


Sanctuary

by RogueTwelve



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Bellamy, Torture, like hella dark, slowburn Bellarke, triggering content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2019-07-05 19:12:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15869967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueTwelve/pseuds/RogueTwelve
Summary: What was meant to be a fun college getaway with friends to Dubai ends in disaster.Now Navy SEAL Bellamy Blake is in a race against time to find and rescue his sister's friend... and he's on his own.





	1. Prologue

_“I’m not leaving you here.”_

Clarke sighed for what felt like the twentieth time. Octavia could be more stubborn than a mule sometimes.

“You are.”

“Really? Then what am I going to do Griffin? Say I _do_ by some miracle manage to escape. We don’t even know which goddamn country we’re in anymore. It’s not like I can just walk to the closest corner store and ask for a payphone.” There were tears threatening to fall from Octavia’s eyes. Clarke reached up to wipe the younger girl’s cheek. She only managed to smear some of the grime.

“Hey. You can do this O – I know you can. You’re going to get out there and use your head…” At this Clarke had to break off as her body was wracked with coughs, each one sending shooting pain through her already battered ribs. Octavia just continued to cradle her friend’s head, the tears finally beginning to fall.

When Clarke finally managed to wheeze in enough air to continue, she put her hand on Octavia’s and squeezed it with as much strength as she could muster. “You are using this Octavia. They’ve barely been feeding us and you need to fight while you still have the strength. Once you get out of here I have no doubt that you’ll figure something out. Hell, for all we know Bellamy could be stationed down the block.” She managed a small smirk and Octavia did her best to return it.

The smile quickly faltered though, “I still can’t just leave you here. You’d be alone and-“

“Octavia.” Clarke cut her off, her tone deadly serious. “I’m dying. If you try to take me with you we’re both dead. Please… this is our chance.”

Octavia still looked torn. She pulled the filthy wool blanket that their captors had given them closer around her friend and hesitated there chewing her lip.

“O…” Clarke had managed to hold strong for so long but she was finally feeling herself start to crack. “Tell my parents – they need to know that I love them. And make sure that they know that none of this was their fault.”

Octavia opened her mouth as if to argue, probably to tell her friend that there was no way that she was going to die. But at the sound of voices arguing in Arabic coming closer down the hallway she merely nodded her head.

Clarke gave her one last reassuring smile, then fluttered her eyes closed, trying her best to hold in any loud coughs even when they felt like they might explode out of her chest.

She could feel Octavia’s legs shaking beneath her head as the young girl positively thrummed with nervous energy. Clarke ached to comfort her, but this part of the plan was crucial.

The lock clicked and was followed by the loud creak of the door to their prison swinging inward. Above her, Octavia’s hyperventilating intensified.

There was the dull thud of boots slowly entering the room and scuffing on the dirt floor. Two bodies. Exactly as they’d planned.

“She needs a doctor, she stopped breathing,” every bit of fear and pleading in Octavia’s voice didn’t need to be faked.

“Up.” The uncaring voice of one of their captors barked out. Clarke gave Octavia’s hand one last reassuring squeeze before she was gently lowered to the ground.

Clarke traced the sound of Octavia’s much lighter barefoot tread to the doorway. As the girl crossed paths with one of the assailants there was a wicked crack followed by a sharp gasp from Octavia. Clarke fought not to open her eyes and give herself away.

One of the men approached and there was the shock of his rough boot knocking her onto her back. Clarke allowed herself to flop, a cough absolutely tearing at her throat, trying to get out. Somehow she managed to keep it in.

There was a moment of silence before Clarke felt the air shift. A rush of body odor and sour breath washed over face as the man squatted down beside her, checking to see if she had finally died.

Clarke sprung into action.

Quick as a flash, she pulled the makeshift plaster shiv that she and Octavia had meticulously crafted from a crumbling piece of the wall out from under the blanket and shoved it up and under the man’s ribs as hard as she possibly could.

There were the sounds of a skirmish from across the room and Clarke looked up just in time to see Octavia send the second man’s head sailing back into the door jamb. He slumped to the floor and didn’t move.

For just a moment Octavia stood there, her eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights as she looked pleadingly at Clarke. She managed half a step towards the blonde before Clarke screamed, _“Run!”_

Octavia gave her one last apologetic look, a single tear streaming down her dirt caked cheek before she turned, her pony tail swinging as she disappeared down the hallway.

Clarke was given half a moment of triumph before her attacker began to stir, finally over the initial shock of the stabbing. She managed to struggle to her knees allowing herself enough leverage to twist the shiv and the pull it out. The man starred at her with haunting eyes, then gave a horrible gurgle before collapsing to the floor in a heap.

Clarke scrambled away from him then doubled over as her whole body spasmed in a coughing fit. It was the worst yet. As she slowly pulled her hand away from her mouth she saw that her palm was splattered with blood. She wiped it away on her already soiled shorts.

Eventually she managed to make her way to the entrance to the room. She pushed the door closed. The heavy click of the lock felt like it reverberated through her whole body. She hadn’t told Octavia this part of the plan but it had two purposes: if Octavia’s victim somehow managed to get up he wouldn’t be able to pursue her. If Octavia decided to come back for her… she wouldn’t have a choice. Hell, if she was really lucky, the lock might even slow down the guards’ replacements.

She wasn’t counting on it.

For now, all Clarke could do was wait and hope.

She retrieved the blanket and settled into the far back corner of the windowless room, as far from the two bodies as she could possibly achieve.

There was nothing. No shouting, no alarms, and thankfully no gunshots echoing across the compound. The silence was only broken by Clarke’s rattling coughing fits.

Maybe Octavia would actually pull this off.

As the adrenaline began to fade from her system, Clarke began to fade in and out of a sleeplike state. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had anything to eat or drink and she simply didn’t have the energy to keep her eyes open any longer.

What could have been hours, or maybe even days later Clarke awoke to the sound of heavy boots once again clomping down the hallway. Nothing in the room had moved since the last time she opened her eyes and she allowed herself a grim sense of satisfaction that they had actually managed to take out two of the bastards.

Without warning the door slammed back on its hinges and she was met with hard, dark eyes surveying the room.

She cowered back into the wall hoping the man would somehow skip over seeing her, but it was useless.

“American bitch!” he roared, and in just a few long strides the butt of his rifle was slamming into the side of her skull and she was swallowed by darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick prologue of a work that popped into my head last night and wouldn't leave me alone. I'm not really sure where I'm going with this yet or how frequently it'll be updated, but I'll try to get the next chapter with at least a bit of an explanation of how Clarke and Octavia got into this situation ASAP.
> 
> Be forewarned... Angst is my specialty.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated.


	2. I

Bellamy still couldn’t believe the whirlwind shitstorm that had bulldozed his life over the last week.

 Things had started out as any other Thursday: roll call, breakfast, morning training, strategy and logistics meetings, and the like. At dinner he had spoken to Lincoln. Both men’s contracts were coming to an end at the end of their current tour and they were trying to make sense of what to do with their lives.

 Bellamy knew one thing for certain – there was no way he was re-enlisting. He didn’t regret the path he’d chosen, but the things he’d seen, the things he’d done… he needed some time to re-evaluate. He was still under thirty (barely) and figured he could still make a life for himself outside of the marines. He still had no idea what that would entail.

 For Lincoln it wasn’t so simple. As the team’s lead medic he felt more of a duty to their comrades on the frontlines. Re-enlisting was a real possibility for him – a fact that had led to many an argument between the two men.

 Bellamy could absolutely respect his position, but as far as he was concerned, if Lincoln had any real intentions towards his little sister he needed to get his shit together and go home.

 When Lincoln and Octavia had first started dating Bellamy had been categorically against the pairing. His sister should be with someone who could keep her safe at home in Virginia and not be overseas on deployment for six months at a time. But on the battlefield Lincoln had earned his grudging respect, and over time that had gradually turned into a strong friendship. He had to admit that there were certainly worse men that Octavia could fall for. But that didn’t change the fact that Bellamy strongly felt that Lincoln should go home and actually be with her. His sister was too young to be an army wife, or worse yet a widow.

Their argument had gotten heated, as usual, and the two had decided to blow off some steam with some target practice before dark descended.

Their plans were foiled however when Miller, another member of their team pulled Bellamy off to the side as they left the Mess and told him that he needed to head to the Troop Commander’s tent for a sat-phone call from General Kane.

There were no alarm bells right away. Marcus had been a father figure to him and Octavia ever since their mother had passed away on base when he was 13. Though he obviously didn’t make a habit of making personal calls to Bellamy, the General would know that his contract was coming to a close and probably wanted to weigh in with some advice.

Bellamy had shrugged off the grim look on his commanding officer’s face and simply took the proffered phone. “Sir,” he greeted.

Marcus hadn’t bothered with any formalities. “Bellamy, you need to sit down.”

The words had been like a bomb going off in the pit of his stomach. His mind immediately raced to a million worst-case scenarios. All of them had one common thread – his sister.

“Is she alive?” was all he had managed to gasp out.

Kane had then relayed all of the information that they had to him, and each new fact had hit him like a sucker punch. He hadn’t even known that his sister had left the States, let alone that she for some reason had thought that a vacation to the Middle East could possibly be a good idea. When Marcus finally got around to admitting that his sister had already been missing for a week and they were still no closer to tracking down her whereabouts, Bellamy had been downright furious. Which, when he looked back and thought about it, had probably been the point of withholding the information.

In the end, Kane had had him confined to quarters, lest he do anything stupid. Then, with the assurance that they were doing everything they could and if they found anything he would be the first to know, the conversation had ended.

And his life felt like it had imploded.

Back in his barracks, his emotions had finally had a chance to catch up with him. The utter betrayal that Marcus had kept this from him for a whole week ‘for his own good’.  And a pit of helplessness that felt like it would swallow him whole. He spent hours pacing the confined space and trying his best not to grab the nearest piece of furniture and throw it at the wall.

By the time the rest of the men were ready to turn in for the night, Bellamy had already gone to bed, unable to muster the energy to control his emotions enough to speak to anyone, even Lincoln.

He could feel his friend hesitate near his bunk, obviously sensing that something was wrong. Bellamy ignored him, keeping his back turned. Eventually the medic gave up and got into his own bunk.

Bellamy had lain there -wide awake- for hours, his mind still racing. There was no way that sleep was coming to him with all of the terrible things he was imagining could have been happening to his little sister while he was lying there safe in his bed. At that moment he had felt that he would be surprised if he ever slept again.

Lincoln’s nearby presence also ate at him. Having no legally documented relationship to his sister, he would not have been informed about what was happening. He remembered the rage he felt about being kept in the dark and realized that he couldn’t put one of his best friends through the same ordeal.

With a heavy sigh he’d sat up in his bunk and looked at the bed next to his. In the dim light he could just make out Lincoln’s still form. He’d debated then about waiting until morning to deliver his crushing news, but again the guilt of not knowing won out.

“Link,” he whispered just loud enough for his friend to hear. He hadn’t wanted to wake anyone else up. And if Lincoln didn’t wake, he would have taken it as a sign.

“Yeah,” there was no trace of tiredness in his voice. Obviously Bellamy hadn’t been the only one kept awake by racing thoughts.

“It’s Octavia…” Bell took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. “She’s missing.”

There had been a moment of silence, then slowly Lincoln had rolled onto his side to face him, his brown eyes piercing in the darkness. “That’s not funny man.”

Bellamy had struggled to find words for a moment. Obviously Lincoln had thought that he was playing some kind of cruel prank, trying to further his point from their argument earlier in the evening. When he could speak again, his voice broke as he asked, “Do I look like I’m joking?”

Lincoln had silently studied him for a breath longer before sighing and sitting up as well. “No.” Lincoln had taken a moment starring at the ceiling to collect his thoughts. “Tell me what happened.”

It had probably been the first time ever that Bellamy was thankful that SEAL team 10 employed some rather loud snorers. Their conversation wouldn’t wake anyone up. “She was on a trip to Dubai with a couple of college friends. Receipts from their hotel room show that they’d bought tickets for a cruise on a small catamaran last Wednesday. The burned out hull of the boat was found off the Gulf Coast the next day. No bodies have been recovered.”

“Any ransom notes? Reports of suspicious activity?”

“None,” Bellamy had felt the frustration begin to grow again in the pit of his stomach. “If she’s even still alive, she could literally be anywhere in the world by now. Kane is doing what he can, but they’ve literally turned up nothing.”

“She’s not dead. We’d know if she was dead.”  Lincoln wearily scrubbed both hands across his face. “So what’s the plan?”

Bellamy had resisted the urge to punch the wall at the head of his bed. “Nothing. I’m confined to quarters under threat of court martial. Kane says it’s for my own good.”

Lincoln had chewed that over for a bit. “He’s probably right. At least for now when we don’t even have a clue about where to start. But the second they find anything…”

Bellamy had only given him a firm nod in response. After that, both men had drifted into a tense silence. Neither of them slept a wink.

Over the week, Bellamy’s restrictions had slowly become more lax due to his good behavior. He was eventually allowed to return to training, though he wasn’t allowed to leave the base without a CO’s supervision. There had been radio silence from the General, and that thought had been like a constant monster clawing at his insides.

Until Friday morning, exactly a week and a day since that first fateful phone call. Bellamy was approached at breakfast about an urgent message from General Kane. He had stood immediately, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to leave the Mess. Lincoln had given him a meaningful look and an encouraging shoulder squeeze as he passed.

Back in the Troop Commander’s tent Bellamy had fumbled for the sat-phone without a word. As he’d lifted the receiver to his ear his world had been rocked by a single sentence. _“We’ve found her.”_

That was how Bellamy found himself in the back of an army transport on his way to a medical center in Baghdad. Kane had called him from a plane and would probably beat him there. So far details were scarce and Bellamy felt almost as if his skin were crawling with nervous anticipation.

When they finally arrived, Bellamy hopped out of the vehicle before it had even had the chance to come to a full stop. He entered the building at a jog and after a brief stop at reception, was on his way to the top floor, taking the steps two at a time.

At the top of the stairs he was met with an armed guard: U.S. military holding sub-machine guns. His jaw tightened. On the one hand he was grateful that his sister’s safety was being made a priority. On the other… it meant that they still considered her to be in enough danger to warrant keeping her on a military-secured unit.

What the hell had happened?

After the guards checked his credentials and relieved him of his sidearm he was waved through.

The floor was busier than he had expected.  The rooms were obviously so full that some of the patients were forced to stay on stretchers in the hallway. They were made up of a mix of civilians and soldiers, some unconscious, some restrained, nearly all covered in bloodied bandages.

Bellamy took a quick scan of the room but didn’t see any familiar looking faces. He stopped a frazzled looking nurse on her way past and inquired about where he needed to go.

“Sorry, things are a bit hectic today… car bomb.” She told him by way of explanation, shrugging a shoulder and giving him a ‘what can you do’ look. “Octavia Blake? She’s in the room on the left at the end of the hall.”

Bellamy thanked her, though he doubted she heard it as she had already hurried off to attend to another patient.

A heavy feeling of trepidation set in as he made his way down the corridor. He had no idea what he was walking into. What if his sister had been maimed beyond recognition? What if it was like one of those cheesy soap operas and she didn’t remember him? What if it wasn’t even her but just some girl who had happened across his sister’s passport and carried just enough of a resemblance for whoever found her to just shrug it off?

He was snapped out of his reverie by the sound of a familiar voice coming from the second last door. Bellamy decided to have a quick peak inside and was met with a view of the back of Marcus Kane’s head. The room had been transformed into a command center of sorts, with maps and notes posted on a corkboard covering one wall. The majority of the far wall was being used as a makeshift projection screen and was currently split into two halves. The General was obviously in the middle of a conference call.

The screen on the right showed a distraught woman, her eyes obviously red and swollen from crying. The man on the left had a much more stoic expression, though there were dark circles under his eyes and upon closer inspection his suit appeared rumpled, as if he’d been wearing it non-stop for more than a day. Bellamy vaguely recognized him as some form of politician from back home in Virginia.

“How could you?” The woman was yelling. “How could you allow her to go on such a dangerous trip? She’s your daughter!”

The man let out a deep sigh, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “She’s a grown woman Abby. She makes her own decisions. Not to mention that Dubai is normally a very safe area of the world-“

“Nestled between how many war zones?!” The woman screeched.

“And what exactly did you do to stop her? She’s your daughter too. Maybe if the two of you had been speaking at all, you could have talked some sense into her.”

Marcus cut in, “Jake, Abby, please. Now is not the time to lay blame…”

Bellamy backed away from the door. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop and he also didn’t want to interrupt. When Kane was finished it wasn’t like he would be difficult to find. He wasn’t leaving his sister’s side.

Bellamy approached the final door of the hall and knocked lightly, not wanting to startle his sister.

“Come in,” the muffled sound of Octavia’s voice caused his whole body to deflate, as a lot of the tension that he hadn’t even realized he was carrying instantly evaporated.

Slowly he turned the handle and poked his head through the doorway.

“Bellamy?” Octavia lay propped up in her hospital bed, an IV attached to the back of one hand and an oxygen tube in her nose. Both of her arms were wrapped in pristine white bandages from her wrists until they disappeared under the sleeves of her hospital gown. One side of her face was swollen and mottled in awful shades of reds and purples. But there was something about the spark in the one eye that she was able to open that was so undeniably Octavia. It still held the fierceness and brilliance that Bellamy had always associated with his sister.

“O.” Bellamy was at her side in an instant, pulling her into his arms. He felt a sharp sting in his nose as he tried his best to hold in the tears that were suddenly flooding his eyes. Under his hands he felt the sharp edges of her ribs poking out. His sister had always been thin, but this took things to a whole new level.

“Ow, big brother,” Octavia winced, but as Bellamy pulled away quickly he saw that there was a glimmer of humor in her eye.

“Jesus O, how is it that you’re handling this better than I am?” he asked as he smoothed back the tangled hair from her cheeks, just like he used to when she was a little girl.

“I have to be strong. For Clarke,” was the girl’s solemn answer.

“Clarke?” Bellamy’s eyebrows knit in confusion. He was hit with a sudden vision of a tangled mop of curly blonde hair over a pair of startlingly blue eyes. “Clarke Griffin? The girl from next door?”

Octavia bit her lip and only managed to nod, lowering her gaze. Bellamy noticed moisture finally starting to collect in the corners of his sister’s eyes.

Marcus Kane had taken in the Blake siblings when Bellamy was 13 and Octavia Octavia was 8. They had lived next door to the Griffins and Octavia had become fast friends with their daughter. The two had been thick as thieves in their childhood. Bellamy barely remembered the girl - that had been during his angst filled teen years and he had enlisted soon after. He was struggling to connect the dots on why his sister would be mentioning her now.

“Not to be rude, but what does she have to do with anything?” he asked her gently.

“They still have her.”

Bellamy felt his gut plummet. He knew that Octavia had been with friends when she disappeared, but never in a million years did he think that he would know one of them.

Octavia had begun to cry silently, so he took her hand in his reassuringly, doing his best not to jostle her IV. “Hey, it’s okay.” He knew that it wasn’t, but he was at a loss for what else to say.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. The Blake siblings looked to find General Marcus Kane standing in the doorframe. Bellamy reluctantly released his sister’s hand in order to salute.

Kane gave him a quick nod. “At ease Petty Officer.” He came to the other side of the bed and gave Octavia a quick kiss on the forehead. “I’m glad to see you’re alright.” He told her earnestly. Turning to Bellamy he asked, “May I have a word?”

Bellamy looked askance at Octavia and she managed a small smile for him. “I’ll be fine.”

Before leaving, Bellamy reached into the pocket of his fatigues and pulled out a folded note. “From Lincoln,” he explained. Octavia accepted the note and nodded, worrying the edges between her fingers.

Bellamy followed the General out to hallway where Kane stopped and closed the door behind them. “It’s good to see you son,” he told the soldier, giving his shoulder a pat followed by a firm squeeze.

“What the hell happened to my sister?” Bellamy had never been one to beat around the bush.

Kane sighed deeply. “Fractures in her right cheek and left wrist as well as a hairline fracture in her jaw. Shallow cuts and cigarette burns covering a significant portion of her body. She was also dehydrated and malnourished when they found her. The doctors say it’s not as bad as it looks. Most of the injuries were meant to inflict maximum pain with minimal damage. There will be scarring, but I’ve been assured that there should be no other lasting physical damage. We’re more worried about the lasting psychological trauma. She was tortured for nearly 2 weeks.” Kane paused there allowing that information to sink in for a moment.” Bellamy looked to the ceiling trying to regain control of his emotions. When he had salvaged some semblance of calm he nodded. “As for what actually transpired over the last 15 days I’d like to hear that from Octavia herself.”

Bellamy looked at him skeptically. “Is that really necessary? Hasn’t she already told everything she knows to the officers that she was debriefed by?”

Kane nodded. “I received their full report this morning. Nevertheless, if it’s okay with her I’d like to hear it from your sister. There’s still a life on the line here and I’d like to see if I can glean any other useful information.”

Bellamy longed to say no, that his sister had already been through enough. Instead he nodded, thinking about poor Clarke Griffin.

The two men re-entered the small hospital room and Marcus pulled two chairs up to the side of the bed. Octavia hadn’t moved since they left. She was still clutching the letter tightly in her hand and playing with the edge with her fingertips.

Kane allowed Bellamy to sit closest to his sister, knowing that her testimony would probably take a lot out of her. He took up the chair closer to the foot of the bed. Retrieving a small tape recorder from his pocket, he laid it near her feet. “You’re not in any trouble Octavia, I’d just like to have a copy of this conversation so that I can go over it again later with a clearer head. Is that all right with you?”

Octavia nodded.

Marcus reached forward and hit the record button. “Alright then. Octavia I know that you’ve already told your story more than once, but I’d like to hear it just one more time. Any small clue you give us might be crucial in helping Clarke.”

Octavia sighed, but nodded once more then waited for further direction.

“Start at the beginning,” Marcus coached her. “What were you doing in Dubai?”

“It was just a normal college trip. We spent a couple weeks touring Southeast Asia with Monty, Harper, and Jasper, then did a week long yoga retreat with Niylah and Ilian in Goa. At the end of it Clarke wasn’t ready to go home,” Octavia winced slightly, giving Kane a sideways glance. “Things still aren’t great with her mom and she was viewing this trip as one last big rebellion before she starts medical school at Johns Hopkins in the fall. I know I didn’t tell you any of this Bell, but I didn’t want you to worry. I’ve been working my ass off at the Dropship to pay for this and none of the money came from my college fund I swear.”

Octavia really did look apologetic and honestly, even if she had blown all of her tuition money on the trip he couldn’t be mad at her. They’d had a rough childhood and she deserved to be happy. Not to mention she’d already more than paid for any potential wrongdoing. He placed his hand on her sheet-covered knee and gave it a gentle squeeze letting her know that it was all right.

Kane cleared his throat, signaling her to continue.

“Anyway, Clarke wanted to make one more stop. She practically begged me to fly with her to go to Dubai -even offered to foot the bill for hotels- and eventually I caved. Wells had promised Jake that he would keep an eye on us and keep us out of trouble so he came as well. The first few days everything was normal. We mostly went sightseeing and did some shopping. On the second last day Clarke suggested that we go on a boat tour in the Gulf and Wells and I thought, why not?

“Again, everything seemed normal. There was another group of guys on the boat but we didn’t think much of it. We didn’t even notice the commotion at first. The group of guys had guns. They ordered us and the crew into a corner and started tying our wrists and putting bags over our heads. Wells… he fought back, hoping the crew would back him up. One of the men smashed him on the side of the head with the butt of their gun and they-“ Octavia’s voice broke. She paused for a moment, recollecting herself. “He was unconscious and they threw him overboard.”

Kane leveled her with a look. “Wells Jaha was found by locals washed up on a beach close to Abu Dhabi. He suffered a traumatic brain injury. He was medevaced back to the States and is currently recovering at a hospital in Virginia.”

Octavia gasped. “Wells is alive?”

Bellamy also gave their mentor a sharp look.

Kane sighed. “Without ID it took days to identify him, and even then he wasn’t able to provide us with any useful information. He still hasn’t woken up. I’m sorry Bellamy.”

Octavia looked as if she were struggling with this new information, but eventually she was able to continue. “We couldn’t see anything but we knew the men had hijacked the boat. After Wells no one tried very hard to fight back.  Not very long after, we were forced across a plank onto a different boat. There was a strong smell of gasoline and then a rush of heat. They forced us into a small stuffy room and we were there for a long time.”

“What can you tell me about the place where you got off the boat?” Marcus prodded.

“Not much. We still had the bags over our heads. I could tell that it was dark outside… and it was quiet, like no city noises.”

“What was the ground like?”

“Sand, then eventually pavement.”

Marcus gave a small nod. “Go on.”

“They put us into the back of a vehicle and forced us to kneel on the ground. At this point I’m pretty sure it was just Clarke and me. I don’t know what happened to the crew of the catamaran. The road that they took us on was really windy for a long time. I felt carsick. Eventually it straightened out for a bit then got windy again at the end. When they took us out it was still dark. There were men guarding the facility and they spoke to our captors in Arabic.  The guards took us directly to the room where they held us before throwing us in and locking the door. Eventually we managed to get each other’s hood off.”

“What can you tell us about the room where they kept you?” Kane prompted.

“It was underground. There were no windows, the only light came from the space around the door. It made it really hard to tell how much time was passing or whether it was day or night. The floor was dirt and the walls were really old plaster. It was crumbling and falling apart in places.” Octavia paused here to see if Marcus would ask her anything else. When he didn’t she continued.

“They rarely fed us. Just a bottle of water to split between the two of us, I guess it would have been every day and maybe a couple of pieces of stale bread every 2 or 3. They left a plastic bucket for us in the corner to use as a washroom. The most human interaction we got was for beatings.”

Bellamy automatically reached for his sister’s hand. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to hear this part.

“They usually came in groups of three, two to restrain one of us while the other was tortured by the last man. Clarke would antagonize them, trying to get them to focus on her instead of me. I begged her to stop, but she just insisted that one of us needed to stay strong if we were going to escape and since I had martial arts training it should be me. She definitely got it way worse than I did. We kept asking them what they wanted but they never responded. Eventually Clarke got really sick. She tried to hide it at first but eventually it got too bad. They started sending only two men in because one was more than enough to restrain her.” Octavia’s voice broke and Bellamy’s heart broke right along with it. He couldn’t imagine how she must have felt watching her best friend do her best to protect her, and then slowly deteriorate as a result.

“We started devising a plan. They had freed our wrists early on as if to show us that even without being restrained we had no chance of escaping. We used it to our advantage. We fashioned a makeshift shiv from a piece of plaster from the wall. The next time that they came for us I-I pretended that Clarke was dead. When one of them went to check on her she shanked him and I knocked the other one out. She yelled at me to run. I… I heard her lock the door behind me so that I couldn’t go back for her. Some one needs to go back for her, she didn’t have a lot of time,” Octavia pleaded.

The grimace on Marcus’ face was subtle, but Bellamy still caught it. The General motioned for his sister to continue. “Tell me everything you can about your escape.”

Octavia hesitated, not satisfied with his lack of response, but went on. “I climbed out of a window and hid until the guard on the gate changed so that I could slip out while they were distracted. After that I hid near the compound until dark then set off. Based off of where the sun set I started walking west… I have no idea why because we had no idea where we were. I did my best to avoid people for as long as I could, and when I made it to a more populated area I hitched a ride on the back of an old pickup truck by hiding under a tarp. I must have fallen asleep but it couldn’t have been for very long… maybe an hour? When I woke up it was early morning and the truck was stopping in a market place near a river. I stole some food and less conspicuous clothes and holed up again, just trying to come up with a plan. I noticed that across the river there were men in fatigues holding machine guns. They didn’t look like any of the local militia that I’d seen. When it got dark I stole a couple of old wooden pallets and decided to try to paddle across the river. Luckily, the water was pretty calm. When I got across I hid in the reeds until I could get a closer look at the uniforms. They were a mix of American and Canadian soldiers. I got their attention and luckily they didn’t shoot me. Long story short, that’s how I ended up here.”

If it were anyone other than his sister telling him the story, Bellamy wouldn’t have believed it.  The idea that a civilian, let alone a 23 year old girl with only some tae kwon doe and jujitsu to her name could escape a compound of armed men and navigate a hostile foreign country and live to tell the tale seemed more than a little far fetched. But his sister had been amazing him with her feats ever since she was a little girl. He was just utterly grateful that he would have a chance to tell her just how proud he was.

Octavia looked at both of them expectantly. “So when is the rescue mission for Clarke going to leave?”

Silence.

Eventually, Marcus sighed deeply, unable to meet her eyes. “Octavia…”

Octavia straightened in her bed, looking almost ready to pounce. Bellamy’s hand around hers tightened as he anxiously watched her pulse and her blood pressure began to rise. “How could you? She saved my life. She’s going to be your step daughter!” The hurt and betrayal in Octavia’s voice was undeniable as she shouted at the man who had adopted her as a child.

Marcus hastily stopped the tape recorder and placed it back into the breast pocket of his fatigues. “Octavia, listen-“

He was cut off as a nurse barged into the room and clucked disapprovingly at the now angrily beeping heart monitor. She began shooing them out of the room. Marcus rose without a fuss but Bellamy was much more reluctant. Kane firmly placed his hand on the younger man’s shoulder, giving him a pointed look and nodding toward the room next door that Bellamy had seen earlier. The Petty Officer tried to ignore him, but at a stern look from the nurse, he kissed the back of his sister’s hand and followed after the General.

Bellamy was feeling more than a little bewildered by everything that just happened and especially by Marcus’ reaction. They had undergone dangerous rescue missions before and beyond that, if he remembered correctly, Clarke was the daughter of a United States Senator. Things started to click into place as he remembered the video conference call that he had witnessed earlier – the tired man and woman had been Clarke’s parents: Senator Griffin and his wife Dr. Abby Griffin. Bellamy hadn’t seen them much in the few short years that he had lived at the Kane residence, so it was no wonder that he hadn’t recognized them.

But then why the hell weren’t they mounting a rescue mission?

The second the door to the conference room had closed behind them Bellamy chimed in. “With all due respect Sir-”

Marcus held up a hand, silencing him. He stood with his back towards Bellamy, gaze fixed on a topographical map littered with notes. “Based off of everything we’ve managed to piece together from Octavia, she’s being held in Iran.”

“So?” Bellamy wasn’t following.

Marcus sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping. Bellamy had never seen him look so old. “The US has no diplomatic relations with Iran. Sending in a team would be seen as an act of war.”

Bellamy’s brow furrowed. “So that’s it then? We’re just going to leave her to die?”

Kane’s hands balled into fists. “I watched that little girl grow up. Other than Octavia, she’s the closest thing that I have to a daughter. If I didn’t think it would put both her and the whole damn country at more risk I’d be the first one over there myself.”

Bellamy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. They really weren’t going to do anything about it.

“What if Octavia were still there?” Bellamy’s voice was low, lethal. Kane was one of the few people in his life that he’d ever fully trusted. He’d been able to leave overseas on missions knowing that Octavia was fully protected. Obviously he had been dead wrong.

Marcus let the heavy silence hang for a few more moments, still thoroughly studying the intel in front of him. It took all of Bellamy’s will power not to throttle him.

“Two weeks furlough,” Marcus finally remarked quietly.

“I’m sorry, what?” Bellamy asked, totally thrown for a loop.

“I can get you two weeks furlough to take care of your sister. Maybe even a month if things go south. But you absolutely cannot get caught.” His eyes were pleading though his posture remained stiff.

“But I thought you said-“

“A rogue SEAL is a lot easier to explain away than a full team or an Army General. But if you get caught, a court martial would be the least of both of our worries. Do I make myself clear?”

Bellamy worried his jaw for a moment, but when Marcus finally turned to look at him he nodded his head.

Marcus finally relented, allowing some of the tension to drain from his body. “I can’t ask you to do this Bellamy. In all likelihood this could be a suicide mission. You’d have no backup waiting if anything goes wrong. And even if everything were to go perfectly, though I’ll do everything in my power, you still may end up in prison.”

The reality of what was coming started to sink in for Bellamy, but there was no real choice. The thought of what Octavia had been through combined with the haunted look in her eyes as she pleaded with them to go save her friend weighed heavily on his mind. His sister owed this girl her life. _His sister, his responsibility._

“I’ll do it,” he confirmed with a nod.

“I can get you as far as Al-Faw, near where Octavia was picked up by patrols. From there you’ll have to cross the border on your own. A military transport will leave here at 0900 hours tomorrow. Be on it.” Marcus’ eyes shone with pride as he engulfed his adopted charge in his strong arms. Bellamy remained stiff in his embrace, still finding it hard to reconcile the fact that this man whom he had so respected was essentially hanging him out to dry.

“Thank you son,” Marcus told him, seemingly not noticing his rigid posture.

Bellamy stepped back and gave him a salute, before turning away, unable to meet his eyes.

Leaving the room, he hesitated, sparing a glance at Octavia’s door. He needed to see his sister, to reassure himself that she’d be alright.

Tentatively, he once again peaked his head into her room. Octavia was still awake though she had obviously been heavily sedated, her eyes blinking slowly as she fought the grogginess.

“Hey,” she gave him a small smile.

He allowed himself to slip the rest of the way into the room and back to the chair at her side. “Hey yourself.” He managed a slight grin, not wanting to worry her.

Her eyes grew serious as she reached for his hand. “Tell me someone is going after Clarke.”

Bellamy swallowed heavily. He couldn’t tell her. “Someone is going after Clarke.”

Octavia visibly relaxed, “Thank god.”

Bellamy chewed his lip for a moment. He was really having a hell of a time keeping his emotions in check. This could be one of the last times he ever saw his sister. “Hey O, I really love you. Please don’t ever scare me like this again. You need to take care of yourself, put your poor brother’s mind at ease.”

Octavia gave him one of her signature smirks. “I love you too big brother,” she let out a tremendous yawn. “These drugs are hitting me hard.”

Bellamy ruffled her hair one more time before kissing her on the forehead. “Get some rest. I’ll come visit you again first thing tomorrow morning before I get sent back.”

Octavia pouted, just like she used to when she was a little girl. “So soon?”

Bellamy just nodded at her, then made sure she was properly tucked in before heading for the door.

“Hey Bell?” He was standing in the threshold when her voice caused him to turn around. “I almost forgot to tell you, Lincoln proposed.” Bellamy just stared at her wondering just how hard those drugs were hitting her.

She gave him a mega-watt grin and held up the now opened letter that he had given her earlier. “I mean he’s going to do it for real in person, but he said that these last couple weeks have given him perspective and that he didn’t want to waste anymore time. He’s going to leave the military when this tour is over and he wants to get married.”

This time, Bellamy’s smile was genuine, for both his sister and his friend. “That’s great O. Congratulations.”

As least if he didn’t make it back his sister would be taken care of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies, this chapter took longer than anticipated. It was a combination of trying to get school applications completed and the chapter ending up way longer than anticipated.
> 
> Full disclaimer: I'm not American, I have no ties to the military, and I've never been to the Middle East. All research was done using TV shows and google. If I got anything wrong please don't get offended... this is a work of fiction.
> 
> As always, kudos and reviews are appreciated!


	3. III

_How had Octavia done it?_

That was the question that constantly cycled through Bellamy’s head as he tried to puzzle through just how to make things work. It had taken him two days just to figure out a way to get across the border without getting caught, and even then he’d barely made it without completely destroying the bag of untraceable supplies that Kane had provided him with in the waters of the Shatt Al-Arab. It had taken another full day to travel to the compound that Marcus’ intel team had indicated as Clarke’s probable location.

Now he was hunkered down, sheltered in an abandoned building on an adjacent plot of land, doing his best at being a one-man surveillance team. So far he had gathered next to nothing. He didn’t even know if Clarke was still alive.

Security had obviously been tightened since his sister’s escape. Not only were there guards on the gate, but there were also two-man patrols circling the compound. Through his binoculars he could make out more men through the windows of the compound. All of them were heavily armed.

There was no way that this was going to run like a normal combat extraction. There would be no backup waiting for him at any sign of trouble, and there was no helo waiting for extraction. The intel that Marcus had given him was shoddy at best. Intelligence believed that this was some form of small time organization with far-flung ties to Al Qaeda. They had no idea why they would be kidnapping American nationals and trafficking them across borders. And not knowing what kind of operation he was walking into was probably what scared Bellamy the most.

The sun was close to setting, and Bellamy’s skin was practically crawling as he felt more time slipping away. Waiting had never been his strong suit. He’d usually leave the logistics and planning to other members of his platoon. Tactical, sharp shooting, and brute force… give him any skill requiring physicality and he was your man. What he wouldn’t give for a little help from Roan right now. As much as it begrudged Bellamy to admit it, he was usually the brains that would take the lead in this type of situation.

With a sigh, Bellamy eased himself beneath the view of the window and began to rummage through his pack for an MRE, trying his best not to think about the fact that Clarke was probably starving less than 100 feet away. If she was even still alive that is. He needed to keep his strength up and his wits sharp if he was going to be able to come up with a plan.

He tucked into his beef stew trying to ignore the weird preserved flavor that all MREs seemed to have. On his fifth bite he was distracted by the sound of voices drifting in through the window. Peaking his head up just high enough to see out, he spotted two men- young, armed- speaking Arabic.

Bellamy immediately crouched back down and pressed as far into the wall as he could in order to minimize his shadow.  His Arabic was far from what could even be considered conversational. Luckily he could understand more than he could speak… just enough to get the gist of most conversations. The men were speaking in slow, arrogant tones, making it easier for him to pull out words that he knew.

One commented on how tired he was of guarding the American whore. The other replied that if she wasn’t dead already, he’d put her out of her misery himself.

Bellamy continued to trace their voices as the men got closer to the compound that he had been watching. When they were far enough away, he finally allowed himself to take a breath. Glancing over the windowsill again to ensure that there was no one around, he hopped to his feet and began to pace.

He needed to act. _Now_.

Octavia had mentioned that Clarke had been sick, and if these two men were to be believed it sounded like she was on death’s door. That complicated things. It didn’t sound like she would be able to make it out on her own two feet.

His options were already limited. He couldn’t go in guns blazing- though relatively isolated by abandoned buildings, the compound was still in the city and gunfire would draw too much attention. He also couldn’t go in in full gear or he would more than likely be shot on sight.

As he continued to pace, his boot echoed as he trod over what would seem to be a hollow spot in the floor. Getting down on his knees, Bellamy peeled back the dirty old carpet to reveal a trap door. The space it led to wasn’t very large- probably a spot for the former tenants to hide their valuables- but it would fit his pack.

Scrubbing a hand roughly over the quickly growing-in stubble of his jaw, he contemplated what he could bring with him. The sat phone hidden in an inside compartment could very well be his lifeline, but it was too large to easily conceal and he couldn’t risk being caught with it. And it likely didn’t matter much anyway, Marcus had expressly forbidden him from using it unless he made it back across the border. Nearly, everything else in his pack was either too conspicuous, or just unnecessary. He settled for sliding a large hunting knife into the side of his boot, holstering his sidearm, pocketing a few extra clips of ammunition, and slipping a small pin-like piece of metal into the waistband of his pants. Being captured was a very real possibility, and he needed a way out of cuffs if necessary.

As for any form of disguise he was kind of hooped. Marcus had sent him off in non-descript fatigues, the kind of thing that you could find in an army surplus store, with all of the tags removed to hide the country of origin. They didn’t exactly help him blend in with the locals, but at least they gave him some camouflage amongst the sandy brown buildings and he didn’t have to worry about dealing with flowing robes that he wasn’t used to. It would have to work.

He lugged his pack into the hole in the ground, then re-covered it with the old wooden door and carpet, making sure to kick some of the dust around so that it wouldn’t be so obvious that the place had been disturbed. He said a silent prayer to whoever was listening that by some miracle he’d be back to recover his equipment within a couple of hours with Clarke in tow. Then he set off.

Dark had fallen, and without streetlights, Bellamy was easily able to stick to the shadows. Unfortunately that meant that anyone else would be equally shrouded in darkness. He wished he could have brought his night vision goggles with him, but as an expensive piece of equipment that would have been rare to see in the hands of a civilian, he had had to leave them in the pack.

He dodged into a small alcove in the outer wall of the compound and tried to calm his breathing. It had been a long time since he’d been this nervous for an opp. From this standpoint, he had a decent view of the two men he had overheard earlier. They stood outside the gate, AK-47s resting against the wall within easy reach. He hadn’t had the time to observe the nighttime guard schedule, so he had no way of knowing whether these two were it, or if they had more men patrolling the perimeter like they had during the day.

Bellamy was in the middle of contemplating whether he should take the two men out, or simply scale the wall right where he was, when a loud crash caused him to jump, his nerves on edge. Whirling towards the noise, he found a dark alleyway, but didn’t see any movement. He took another deep breath, this time trying to slow his racing heart. It had probably just been a cat knocking over a heap of trash.

He started to edge his way along the wall towards the men, figuring better the enemy you know, or at least the one you can see.

He was only about 20 feet away when out of nowhere, pain exploded across the back of his skull. His vision blackened for a moment, but it wasn’t like in the movies. A blow to the head doesn’t cause you to instantly lose consciousness, at least not unless you were in serious trouble. But it was still enough to momentarily stun him and cause his ears to ring.

When he was able to vaguely focus again, he became aware of the fact that he was on his knees. Someone was shouting something, but for the life of him Bellamy couldn’t understand what. Someone, no, more than one person was pulling his arms behind his back, but before he was able to concentrate hard enough to fight them off, his wrists were being lashed together, and then his forearms. A burlap sack was thrown over his head and the air became instantly hotter, heavier, and harder to breath.

He was pulled roughly to his feet and the men used the butts of their rifles to propel him along. He stumbled several times, unable to see where he was going. The men simply continued to shout. At some point he went to take a step- and realized too late that there was no floor beneath his foot. His knees crashed into what could only be the step below, followed by his shoulder painfully hitting the wall, and finally his cheek slamming into the ground as he came to a rest, sprawled at the bottom of the stairway. His ears were met by harsh chuckles.

Instead of helping him to his feet, the men simply grabbed him beneath the armpits and began to drag him the rest of the way to their destination. Bellamy heard the faint sound of a lock clicking, and a door creaking open. He was hit by a wave of an awful smell, like the combination of rotting meat, and human sick. The bag was yanked off his head, and he was thrown into the room, skidding across the dirt floor on his face and stomach.

All of this had happened so quickly, his mind was still struggling to catch up. But when it did, he was hit by one thought and one thought only.

He was utterly fucked.

He allowed himself to catch his breath for a moment and take stock. Mostly scrapes and bruises as far as he could tell. His head still throbbed, probably a mild concussion. He tested the bindings on his arms- thick zip-ties. He wouldn’t be able to break out of them with more than one set keeping his arms pressed together nearly to the elbow and trapped behind his back.

With a groan he rolled to his side and brought his knees in toward his chest, managing to complete his roll into a kneeling position. He scanned the room.

It was dim, the only light coming from under the door so it took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust. This must have been the room where Octavia had been held. The floor was dirt like she’d said, and was littered with darker patches. There was a particularly large dark area close to the center of the room and it occurred to Bellamy that the darker areas were stains caused by blood seeping into the ground.

The rest of the room was fairly unremarkable and bare except for a pile of filthy old blankets heaped in the far corner. 

A pile of old blankets with a messy mop of wavy blonde hair poking through the top.

 _The smell_. He’d grown accustomed to it after that initial flash as he’d entered the room, but now it hit him again like a freight train.

“No,” he gasped.

He crawled to her as fast as he could while still managing to balance on his knees. He bent to grasp the top blanket and then turned his body in order to pull it off of her.

She barely even looked human. Her skin was a patchwork of yellows, greens, purples and angry reds, in between the gaping and pus-seeping wounds. She wore only a bikini and what he guessed was once some form of crocheted beach cover up, but he had no guess as to what color any of her clothes had been they were now so coated with filth and dried blood.

Her cheekbones jutted and her eyes were sunken back in her skull. There was more dried blood crusted at the corners of her mouth.

Bellamy twisted away from her to vomit.

When he was sure he was finished, he turned so that he could reach his arms towards her. Feeling the strain in his shoulders, he found the angle of her jaw, and traced his fingers down, just like Lincoln had taught him, trying to find a pulse.

“Come on… come on… come on,” he whispered frantically.

_Nothing._

With a defeated gasp, he fell back onto his haunches. He was too late and now he was probably going to die too.

The lightest of breezes danced across the back of his knuckles. He nearly missed it, but after an extended pause he felt it again and he knew for sure this time that he hadn’t imagined it. Turning his head back to face her he was able to confirm… it was subtle but it was there – the slight rise and fall of her chest.

He felt his shoulders slump in the slightest amount of relief. He reached back towards her and traced from her wrist down to her hand, and pulled in between both of his own grasping it tightly.

“Clarke,” he intoned, hoping for a response. When he didn’t receive one, he tried again, a little louder. “Clarke.”

Nothing, not even the twitch of a finger.

He settled in on the ground beside her, continuing to hold her hand despite the fact that his arms were quickly going numb. There wasn’t much that he could do to help her, but he could at least be there for her. She didn’t need to be alone anymore. 

The fact that he had to sit with his back towards her helped marginally as he tried not to think about what Octavia had gone through. Clarke’s flesh didn’t even look like skin anymore it was so marred by cuts, burns, and infection. Was that what his sister’s arms had looked like under the bandages? Octavia had mentioned that Clarke had gotten it worse, but how much worse?

He was eventually snapped out of his train of thought by the click of the lock turning. Bellamy immediately shot into a more formidable crouch with his hands darting to his holster… which was now empty. Of course the guards would have taken his sidearm away when they brought him in. Twisting his foot within his boot he was able to ascertain that his knife still resided where he left it, even though in his current situation it would be next to impossible to pull out and use.

He was able to make out the shape of four men entering the room. One stayed by the door, two took up closer positions with their AK-47s aimed squarely at his forehead, and the final came straight for him, grabbing him under one arm and wrenching him forward to once again land on his front.

Bellamy scrambled to try to come up with the proper phrasing for what he wanted to say in Arabic, but instead was left with just trying to get past the sharp throbbing in his skull. He’d have to use English and hope that one of his captors would understand. Keeping his knowledge of their language under wraps might help him in the long run anyway.

Fighting his way back into a seated position so that he could see his captors’ faces, he elected not to beat around the bush. “She needs a doctor.” 

The man closest to him spit back towards the corner where Clarke lay prone. “She is trash. If she dies we will find another.” He grabbed Bellamy by the lapel and gave him a hard shake. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

“I’m nobody. Get her a doctor. Now.”

A hard shove sent Bellamy face first into the ground with a boot planted heavy between his shoulder blades. “You don’t appear to be in a position to make demands.” There was the sharp scrape of a knife being pulled from its sheath. Bellamy didn’t flinch as he felt the blade knick the flesh at the base of his spine. There was a hard tug and the unmistakable sound of ripping fabric before a rush of cold air flooded his back.

A derisive chuckle rang out in the room. “ _This ‘nobody’ is from the American navy,_ ” the leader informed his comrades in Arabic. 

Bellamy bit the inside of his cheek and cursed inwardly. The eagle tattoo on his shoulder blade had been an impulsive act when he had just entered the corps at 18 and was looking for a sense of belonging. Now it might be his death sentence.

He felt the muzzle of a handgun press into the base of his skull. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you.” The man’s voice, now very close to his ear, was cold.

Bellamy had fucked up big time. His youthful indiscretions and inability to formulate a solid plan under pressure was about to get them both killed. Unless… he’d already been captured, breaking the one order that Marcus had given him, and his identity was already blown. At the very least- if he somehow made it past the next five minutes and by some miracle somehow made it back stateside- he was facing a court martial and some serious prison time. If there was a chance that he might be able to still get Clarke through this he might as well dig the hole a little deeper.

The click of the safety disengaging snapped the current situation back into focus.

“The girl,” Bellamy gasped out, feeling his gut clench. “You don’t know who she is do you?”

The safety reengaged and the pressure against the back of head lessened slightly.

“She’s the daughter of a United States Senator, her mother is a highly paid surgeon, and she has close ties to a General in the American army. You’ve been sitting on one of the most valuable hostages you could get your hands on and you didn’t even know it.”

The boot on his back was briefly removed in order to land a swift kick to his kidneys. “Liar. You would say anything to spare her life. You’re just trying to buy time for your American friends to set up their raid.”

“Does this look like a well orchestrated operation to you?” Bellamy managed to gasp out. When he didn’t receive a response he continued. “Senator Jake Griffin from Virginia. Look him up on the Internet. I’m sure that he has a picture with his family from the campaign trail.”

The leader spouted off rapid-fire orders to the man outside the room, then returned to pressing the gun to his head, grinding his face into the dirt. “And what use are you to me?”

Bellamy didn’t have an answer to that. But he needed to try… for Octavia’s sake as well as for Clarke. The US had a strict no negotiating with terrorists policy and if things went south she would still need him. He was committing treason, but if it helped save Clarke’s life it would be worth it. Besides he had control over how much he gave them. He closed his eyes. “Information. I know her family. If communication breaks down I can help.”

The guard from the doorway came back and affirmed Bellamy’s claims. The pressure left the back of Bellamy’s body. “Don’t outlive your usefulness,” the groups’ leader advised him before landing one final kick to his ribs.

In a matter of minutes all four men had left the room locking the door behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Bellamy, thinking with his heart instead of his head again.
> 
> I hope I didn't make him sound too idiotic, getting himself into this situation in the first place. Bellamy has always been impulsive but I still struggled with trying to get this chapter out. It was originally meant to be longer but you guys have waited long enough.
> 
> As always, kudos and reviews are very much appreciated.


	4. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while! Just a few quick notes before this chapter, first I know that this story is very dark, and as we delve further into the total awfulness of Clarke and Bellamy's situation I just wanted to make a note of the fact that this story will have a happy ending (eventually). It certainly won't be all sunshine and rainbows, but there will be brightness coming I promise. Please don't give up hope.
> 
> Secondly, to avoid confusion, when things are italicized in quotes it's because the characters are speaking another language. I myself don't speak a single word of Arabic or Kurdish, so this was just easier than embarrassing myself using google translate.

Bellamy had been relatively left alone in the couple of days since he had ended up in this underground cell. His captors were obviously biding their time, trying to figure out what they were going to do with them. Which was fine... Bellamy needed time to game plan as well.

 Shortly after the men had left for the first time, they had sent in a doctor. They only spoke to the man in English and through the haze in his head it had taken Bellamy a while to figure out why. But when he had, he felt the tiniest spark of hope. The doctor’s accent was recognizable from the region of Iraq where Bellamy and his team had been stationed. The man was older and likely was more fluent in Kurdish. Bellamy’s Kurdish was even worse than his Arabic but he could still at least try to use it to his advantage.

 The doctor had kind eyes. Bellamy had noted that when he was originally brought to their prison that he hadn’t looked shocked at Clarke’s condition, but rather resigned. He had done his best to take care of her in the short periods of time each day that he was given to treat her. He had even demanded that she be given a sponge bath and clean clothes and blankets in order to try to control the spread of the infection.

 Putting trust in this man wasn’t ideal, but Bellamy was running pretty short on options. Now he just needed to wait for an opportunity to arise.

 And it did. On the third day that the doctor came in, Bellamy was positioned in his usual place, on his knees between two guards on the far side of the room, when both guards were called elsewhere in the compound. They argued into their walkie-talkies briefly before the taller guard pushed Bellamy to the ground and pressed his boot heavily between his shoulder blades. “You move before we come back, you die,” he was told gruffly. With that, the guards left, locking the door behind them.

 Bellamy turned his head so that he could see where the doctor still worked on cleaning out Clarke’s many cuts, his shoulders tensed.

 After they had been in silence for at least 5 minutes and there were no signs of their captors coming back anytime soon, Bellamy decided it was time to act.

 “ _Help us_ ,” he managed in what he hoped was passable Kurdish. His voice was rough and barely audible after days of disuse and only receiving a few sips of water that his captors had forced him to lap up from a bowl like a dog.

 The man flinched but continued to studiously ignore him. Bellamy figured that the men that held him had probably ordered the doctor to pay him no mind. He kicked the ground, frustrated, then attempted to come up with something else to say.

 A few minutes later while Bellamy was still stewing over his next move, he was startled by the soft sound of the man’s voice. “ _I have a family_.”

 Bellamy felt himself sag into the dirt floor beneath him. He had known that this might be a possibility. The fact that this man was even in Iran in the first place meant that he had likely fled the violence of the war in the neighboring country. Obviously he hadn’t fled far enough, considering he was still under the employ of the terrorist organizations he had been escaping. There was likely nothing that Bellamy could do or say that could convince this man to put his own family in jeopardy for the sake of two Americans whose country had put his life in such turmoil to begin with.

 That said, Bellamy could still attempt to wear away at him over time. That was, as long as Clarke still might be able to be saved.

 It took him a while to formulate his next question, “ _Will she live_?”

 The man finally looked away from Clarke in order to meet his gaze. He began explaining her condition to him, but the words were far beyond Bellamy’s level of comprehension. Finally realizing that the soldier wasn’t taking in anything that he was saying, the man sighed.

 “It’s a miracle that she has even survived this long,” the doctor told him solemnly after switching to English. “I am doing the best that I can with limited resources but… her body has been ravaged with infection causing a high fever. The state of her body is improving slowly but such a high temperature can cause extensive brain damage. The fact that she hasn’t regained consciousness… I am not optimistic.”

 Bellamy felt tears burning at the back of his eyes. It felt like a heavy weight was crushing his chest and he suddenly found it difficult to breathe. He tried to ask the doctor more but he couldn’t seem to formulate words.

 “Who was she to you?” the man asked him gently.

 Bellamy swallowed. “She saved my sister’s life. I promised that I would save hers in return.”

 The man clicked his tongue reproachfully. “In the future I would suggest that you do not make promises that you do not have the ability to keep.” The man sighed. “I’ve already lost two sons to this senseless violence. These men have taken one of my daughters, they know where the rest of my family is, and they’re more than willing to follow through on their threats. My advice to you is that if the opportunity ever does arise, run as far and as fast as you can and do not look back. Anything that slows you down will only allow them to catch up.”

 By that point Bellamy had stopped listening. His vision had developed a haze around the edges and there was a loud high-pitched ringing noise roaring in his ears. He was vaguely aware when the terrorists came back to escort the doctor away, largely because they made sure to give him a few swift kicks before they left, but for the most part he remained numb to his surroundings.

 When the room was again empty except for him and Clarke, he was once again left to the cold darkness and his own thoughts.

 How could this have happened? What in life had led him to this point? And probably more importantly, what was he going to do now?

 His brain was fighting an internal battle between self-preservation and morals that had been instilled in him since the beginning of his SEAL training. No man was left behind. Not ever. Not to mention it still felt premature to give up on Clarke. It’s not like the doctor had given her any form of fancy tests like a CT scan. He had just been voicing his opinion, right?

 But what if he wasn’t? In all of his years in the military Bellamy had seen many a man die after having gone through far less. Shouldn’t he be focusing on finding a way to get _himself_ out alive?

 But Clarke didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve any of this.

 He needed to clear his head. Unfortunately, being restrained in a dark basement by hostiles in a foreign country tended to preoccupy one’s thoughts. He started the slow trek on his knees to the water dish in the corner, hoping that a drink might cool him off.

 Just as his lips touched the liquid he was interrupted by a soft moan coming from the center of the room.

 That was the first sound Clarke had made since he’d arrived.

 Hurriedly he scrambled to his feet, not really caring if he fell. He was at her side in an instant, throwing himself to his knees on the ground beside her so that he could reach to grab her hand. It was awkward, especially trying to avoid the portable IV that had been set up to give her a steady stream of liquids and antibiotics, but he somehow managed to firmly grasp her hand between each of his own, and still look at her face over his shoulder.

 “Clarke,” he whispered to her softly, hoping for some kind of response. He was rewarded with another quiet whimper and a crease forming between her eyebrows.

 He sank back onto his heels, getting ready for a long wait. He was going to wait as long as it took, no matter how badly his neck cramped up from being at such an awkward angle.

 Bellamy wasn’t sure how long he sat like that, maybe minutes, maybe hours, but eventually her eyelids cracked open to reveal the beautiful blue underneath.

 She barely moved, looking like it took almost all of the energy she possessed just to keep her eyes open. “Mom?” her voice was soft and raspy after not being used in so long.

 Bellamy’s heart broke at the amount of pain in that single syllable. She sounded so lost, like she was a little girl.

 “It’s Bellamy. Bellamy Blake. I used to live next door to you when we were younger. I’m Octavia’s brother,” he explained to her, trying not to scare her.

 Clarke’s eyes roamed the room, but it was clear to Bellamy that she wasn’t actually seeing anything. She wasn’t fully conscious to her surroundings or her situation.

 “I-“ she started, then broke off. She swallowed laboriously and Bellamy squeezed her hand urging her to go on. His arms had so long ago gone numb that he was unable to tell if she squeezed back.

 “-Want to go home,” she managed at last.

 Her words were like a stab wound to his gut. He took a deep breath and released it slowly through his nose. “I know Princess.”

 The nickname had just slipped out. He hadn’t used it since she was a little kid, and truth be told he hadn’t even thought about it until that moment. But somehow their circumstance had changed the meaning from a derogatory nature to a term of endearment meant to make her feel more at ease.

 “I know,” he reiterated quietly.

Clarke’s eyelids drooped languidly a few times before finally closing again.

 ***

 It was a long night for Bellamy. He didn’t want to chance falling asleep lest he convince himself that he had imagined Clarke waking up. He also wanted to be there for her in the off chance that she came to again.

 In the many hours that had stretched past Bellamy had had more than enough time to think. He needed to talk to the doctor again. Surely this new development in Clarke’s condition was a good sign. If it meant that she would make a full recovery, then he just needed to stall long enough for her to get stronger and the two of them could work towards escaping together.

 That was assuming that the fact that she hadn’t seemed lucid the entire time that she was awake wasn’t indicative of the brain damage that the doctor had talked about.

 When it was late enough in the morning that light began to creep through the crack under the door, Bellamy began to coax his reluctant muscles out of the uncomfortable kneeling position he had held all night. He didn’t want to draw suspicion from their captors so that they might not leave him alone again.

 Slowly he crawled (under great protest from his stiff legs) back to the far wall and settled in to wait.

 Bellamy was vaguely aware of the echo of more footsteps than usual above their heads and did his best to wrack his brain about what that might mean.

 An indeterminate amount of time later, someone came into the room. He was young, little more than a boy, and he studiously ignored both captives. He placed a fresh bowl of water and two pieces of some type of flatbread just inside the doorway, before turning to leave without a word.

 That was new. Bellamy hadn’t been given any form of food since he’d arrived at the compound. Something had definitely changed. He hoped that it was just that the men had begun negotiations with Clarke’s parents.

 He made his way over to the bread and managed to lean over awkwardly so he could sniff it. It smelled like normal bread, if anything maybe stale. He certainly couldn’t smell anything that sent off warning flags that it might be poisoned. Not that he had any form of expertise that would help him tell the difference.

 It had been so long since his last meal that Bellamy was far past the point of physically feeling hunger anymore. Flatbread also was not the easiest thing to eat when it was lying on the dirt floor and he didn’t have any access to his hands.

 Somehow he managed to tear off small bites, making sure to pace himself and take sips of water in between.  The last thing he needed was to cause himself to vomit up the only source of energy he’d been given in days.

 His stomach must have shrunken enough over the last few days that he’d felt full after the first piece, but forced himself to down the second as well. It wasn’t as if Clarke was going to eat it while she was still unconscious and he needed all of the calories he could get.

 He was left waiting and wondering what was going on for quite a while longer before his ears picked up the sound of boots tramping down the stairs.

 Lots of boots.

 The door flew back on its hinges, and two men grabbed him beneath the arms and hoisted him up so quickly that his feet couldn’t even find purchase on the ground. He was marched to the back corner of the room and shoved so far forward that his nose nearly grazed where the walls met. He was locked in place by the strong grip of a hand squeezing the back of his neck and the cold bite of the muzzle of a gun pressed to the back of his skull.

 Bellamy could hear more people enter the room. Probably ten, not including the guards that continued to flank him. Finally there was silence.

 Was this his execution squad? Were they going to make this into a grotesque propaganda video that would be posted on some dark corner of the Internet?

 He was snapped out of his musings by the soft swish of two final sets of footsteps entering the room. The sound stopped near where Clarke still lay in the center of the room. There was silence for several agonizing seconds before a tiny female whimper caused ice to creep down his spine. Bellamy struggled to turn his head to see what they were doing to her, but the nails on the hand holding his neck bit into his skin forcing him to stop.

 One of the soft sets of footsteps eventually made its may over until it was directly behind him. An impending sense of dread flooded Bellamy from head to toe. This was it.

 “ _I am sorry_ ,” it was the voice of the doctor, whispering in Kurdish. There was a rush of air on his skin as his ruined fatigues were jerked further down his arms, then a sharp pinch at the back of his left tricep.

 Almost instantly, a burning sensation began to spread from the location, followed by a heaviness in his muscles. Bellamy began to struggle in earnest, but it became harder and harder, just as his thoughts became more and more clouded. Eventually everything was just black.

 ***

 Through the heavy haze in his head, Bellamy became vaguely aware of cool metal beneath the length of his body, heavily contrasting the intense heat of the air around him.

 There was a constant rumble vibrating through his chest. A motor. They were moving. Judging by the gentle sway of the floor beneath him they were moving at a decent clip… perhaps on a highway?

 It took him a few attempts to open his eyes as his muscles still felt sluggish and uncoordinated. When he did, it was no help. All he saw was black, with a small amount of light glaring through the upper and lower edges of his vision. A blindfold.

 Moving very slowly so as not to draw suspicion, he extended his leg to the side, trying to see what else he could ascertain about his surroundings just by touch.

 He brushed against something pliable, shorter than where his own leg ended. A shoeless foot… Clarke? There was no way of knowing for sure.

 They hit a particularly hard bump and Bellamy was unable to suppress a grunt as his body slammed back down to the floor.

 There was muttering from above him, then another sharp pinch at the back of his arm.

 And then nothing.

 ***

 When Bellamy finally came to again, it took him even longer to get his bearings. Where ever he was it was extremely bright- he could see the light blazing through his closed eyelids. It did nothing to help the wicked pounding in his head.

 It felt like he had swallowed cotton, and there was an acutely annoying ringing in his ears. He shifted his body, and it took him a moment to realize that his arms were no longer wrenched behind him. In fact, they were no longer numb. Instead a burning sensation raced all the way from his shoulders to his fingertips. He wasn’t sure which one he preferred.

 Opening his eyes, he had to wait for them to adjust to a higher level of light than he had seen in at least a week. The room was largely unremarkable. The walls were painted white, and bare incandescent bulbs blazed on the ceiling. The floor was cold, bare concrete. There was only one door, and it was made of thick metal with bars over the window.

 Quietly adjusting himself into a sitting position, he took stock of himself. Bellamy’s ankles were shackled together with only about two feet of heavy chain between them. With a low groan he took note of the fact that they’d taken his combat boots, leaving him only in socks. So much for his knife. His wrists were no longer zip-tied, but instead were held with standard issue handcuffs which were also attached to about 6 feet of chain secured by heavy bolts about waist high on the closest wall. With a shiver he realized they’d taken the ruined top half of his fatigues, replacing it with only a thin white t-shirt. At least they’d left him his pants.

 A gasp followed by a light thud from behind him startled Bellamy. He whipped around to find Clarke who had obviously just fallen onto her butt, probably shocked to see her fellow captive awake and sitting. At some point during their relocation Clarke had been changed as well, as she now was wearing an abaya without any form of head covering. Bellamy’s stomach rolled at the thought of their captors being the ones to change her clothes.

 He scanned the small amount of skin that he could see, looking for fresh injuries and was slightly relieved when he found none. He was also thankful to find that the unmarred areas of her flesh were beginning to have some color return to them.

 She stared at him, her piercing blue eyes frightened. Her chest heaved with laborious breaths as she inched away from him, crawling backwards weakly in slow painful jerks. Out of the blue she stopped, her eyes widening almost comically.

 “Bellamy Blake?!”

 Obviously she hadn’t tried to figure out who she was sharing a cell with before this point, and honestly he couldn’t blame her. What were the chances that it would be someone she’d know after the ordeal she’d been through?

 Instead of her face melting into a look of relief like he’d expected it to, her countenance quickly morphed into a troubling combination of horror and grief. Her hand shook as she brought it to her mouth. “Oh my god,” she whispered brokenly.

 Bellamy’s mind raced as he tried to figure out what could be so upsetting to her about his presence. Had he been beaten worse than he thought? His injuries didn’t feel like they’d be particularly horrifying to look at… mostly just bruises and shallow cuts.

 Then it dawned on him.

 “Hey, hey, shh…” he tried to crawl closer to her to comfort her, but was yanked up short by the chain. “Octavia’s alright Clarke. She should be stateside by now. I’m here for you. She’s the reason why I found you.”

 Clarke looked skeptical, but at least her breathing was starting to slow. She studied him for a moment, apparently trying to puzzle out the situation a little further.

 “If you’re not here on some kamikaze mission to save your sister, then where’s the rest of your team?”

 Bellamy clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to extinguish any bit of hope that his presence had managed to instill in her, but he didn’t want to lie to her either. He sat there, warring with himself for the right thing to say, his silence ultimately cluing her in to their situation all on its own. She always had been as smart as a whip.

 “There is no team,” she speculated softly, her eyes dropping to the floor.

 Bellamy sighed. There definitely was no point in lying now. “No, there isn’t.”

 Clarke nodded sullenly. They sat in silence for a moment before it was broken by Clarke’s coughing.

 He shifted, again trying to get closer to her to try to support her or do something… anything.

 She simply slouched back to the wall, still out of his reach and rested there. When the coughing ended her chest continued to heave. She looked exhausted.

 “Pneumonia,” she answered his question before he even had to ask. “It’s from the broken ribs.” She took a small break, allowing her breathing to calm a bit. “It’s much better than it was though. I think the fever’s broken.”

 Bellamy nodded. “You’ve been treated by a doctor. He put you on a course of antibiotics.”

Clarke swallowed, closing her eyes and letting her arms fall to her sides. “What’s the point?”

Bellamy’s heart broke a little more, if that were even possible. He pulled the chain as far as it would go ignoring the cuffs as they bit into his skin and managed to hook two of her fingers with his pinky. When she finally opened her eyes and made contact with him he gave her hand as much of a squeeze as he could manage.

Bellamy thought back to the doctor’s advice about making promises he couldn’t keep, but right now he needed to.

“I’m going to get you out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please motivate me with kudos and reviews!


	5. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another very dark chapter. We finally get to see Clarke's point of view of things again... and it isn't pretty.

Clarke was still trying to figure things out. Her body was in a much better condition than it had been the last time she was conscious. Her cuts had been expertly treated and it was easier to breath, even if only a little. Bellamy had mentioned antibiotics. But why?

 What did all of it mean?

 Clarke wasn’t an idiot. She may not have started medical school yet, but she had done more than her fair share of classes on anatomy and physiology in her undergrad. She knew that she had been on death’s door. Without treatment she wouldn’t be alive right now. So what had changed her captors’ minds that suddenly now her life was worth something?

 And more importantly why couldn’t she have gotten something right for once and just died?

 At this point her continued existence was a death sentence to Bellamy. Had she been at home in America in this condition, she’d be holed up in a hospital for weeks healing up, before months of physio to try to get her lungs back to functioning properly and to rebuild her atrophied muscles. It wasn’t like she’d be able to get up and run to safety if the opportunity presented itself. And she doubted Bellamy was going to leave without her. No man left behind and all that…

 In her mind any good karma she might have gained by getting Octavia out was now negated by her brother’s resulting capture. She couldn’t bear to even look at him.

 She’d spent the hours that had elapsed since she’d regained consciousness huddled in a corner, as far from the door as possible and out of Bellamy’s reach. She couldn’t handle him trying to comfort her right now.

 Tracing random patterns on the bare wall with her fingertip she continued to puzzle through any possible reason that those disgusting men were keeping her alive. The only thing that she could come up with was that they wanted to continue to torture their plaything. Her brain struggled to process the thought. She couldn’t imagine suffering such cruelty only to be continually revived so that the brutality could start all over again.

 Her breathing began to become more labored as panic set in. She couldn’t possibly live through much more of this. She just couldn’t.

 “Clarke,” the deep voice startled her. The room had been silent for so long, even the soft tone of Bellamy’s voice rattled like a gunshot in her head.

 She looked over at him for the first time since their last conversation. He was sitting with his back against the wall, legs bent in front of him, cuffed hands resting between his knees. He looked so calm for this situation, like he was just bored waiting for his sister to finish her martial arts lesson. His eyes however, betrayed his concern.

 “Don’t,” Clarke pleaded. She couldn’t take listening to lies about how all of this was going to be okay. Not from him. Especially considering that she was the reason that he was stuck in this hellhole with her.

 “Don’t what?” Bellamy raised an eyebrow at her.

 Clarke sighed. The gust of air caught in her chest and she burst into a fresh coughing fit. She saw him flinch like he wanted to come over to help her, but he remained sitting where he was.

 When her lungs finally relaxed and she managed to calm her breathing to even better than it had been before he’d originally spoken he repeated himself. “Don’t what?”

 Clarke looked at him hard. Despite the bruises and dried blood marring his face he still looked like he was doing alright. They certainly hadn’t tortured him to the extent that they had with her and Octavia, but it was likely only a matter of time. He needed to leave while he still had the strength. She was just at a loss for how she would convince him of that fact.

 She thought back to every childhood memory she had of this man, hoping to come up with something she could use. All she could come up with was how protective he’d always been of Octavia… and his general disdain for _her_.

 Chewing her lip, she tried to come up with something intelligent to say, but instead ended up blurting, “Why did you even come after me? You never even liked me.”

 Bellamy’s brows narrowed together in confusion, “Clarke I-“

 She cut him off. She was on a roll and she needed to get some things off her chest. “I was always just the ‘spoiled brat next door who was a terrible influence on your sister’. And you know what? You were right. I’m the one that got her into this mess. I could have gotten her killed all because the bratty ‘princess’ wanted to get back at her parents. God you must really hate me now-“

 “ _Jesus Clarke_ , I never hated you.” Bellamy no longer looked relaxed. He had shifted to his knees and looked like he would have come closer to her had he been able to. “I was still a stupid sullen teenager when I left to join the navy. I disliked everyone and everything. And this wasn’t your fault.”

 Clarke scoffed, turning her body away from him once again, “You can’t tell me that when you got the phone call that your sister was missing you didn’t blame me.”

 Bellamy attempted to stutter out a reply, but none was forthcoming.

 “That’s what I thought,” she sighed. Breaking eye contact with him she turned her head back toward the wall and leaned into its cool surface. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to hold back the threatening sting of her tears.

 She sat in the silence for a moment and just focused on her breathing. Slow inhales and exhales. She knew how badly she had screwed up. This self-pity wasn’t helping anyone.

 After several minutes the quiet was once again broken by Bellamy’s voice. “Clarke when they come for you I need you to cooperate with whatever they say.”

 Clarke’s eyes snapped back open. She studied him, trying to figure out if he was serious. He was.

 “What the hell difference does it make?” she scoffed. “They’re still going to torture me whether I’m compliant or not. Probably more when they don’t get a reaction as they grind lit cigarettes into my arms.”

 Bellamy flinched at her nonchalance as she’d mentioned what had been done to her. “Clarke-“

 “No, Bellamy. You don’t understand. These people are monsters. They thrive on pain-“

 It was Bellamy’s turn to cut her off this time. “You’re right. I couldn’t possibly understand what it’s been like for you. But things should be different now…”

 Clarke gave him possibly the most skeptical look she had ever given anyone in her life.

 Bellamy sighed, rubbing his forehead against the shoulder of his t-shirt agitatedly. “I told them who you are. They’re going to ransom you off.”

 Clarke couldn’t do anything but stare. “You did what?” she eventually managed to grind out through clenched teeth.

 Bellamy shifted uncomfortably. “I needed to buy time.”

 “The U.S. doesn’t negotiate with terrorists. That’s pretty goddamn common knowledge.” Clarke stated flatly.

 “The government won’t, but your parents can,” Bellamy looked at her pleadingly, trying to will her to understand.

“What in the actual fuck Bellamy? So now my parents can watch me get tortured on video as if just knowing it was happening wasn’t enough. And when all of this goes to hell like every hostage situation always does, they’ll blame themselves.”

 “I didn’t have a lot of options and I needed time to make a plan-“ Bellamy’s argument was cut off by the door flying open.

 Clarke cowered back as two men came toward her, their faces hard and expressionless. She heard scrabbling coming from Bellamy’s side of the room and she glanced over to find he had managed to get to his feet and was trying futilely to put himself between her and the men. They didn’t even spare him a glance.

 Without a word the men grabbed her beneath the arms and started hauling her toward the door. Raw animal panic took over and she immediately kicked out at the one pulling her right arm. He gave her a swift blow to the ribs and between the shooting pain that spiked through her side and the coughing fit that immediately followed, the fight quickly went out of her. She hung limply between the two men, all of her energy focused on just trying to breathe. The other man roughly pulled a burlap sack over her head and without pause they continued to pull her in the direction of the door. She couldn’t even bring herself to move her legs, instead feeling the rough concrete scrape the tops of her feet as they dragged uselessly behind her.

 “Clarke!” she could hear Bellamy’s panicked yells echoing from the room as they continued down the hallway. They were soon drowned out by the slamming of the door.

 She had no idea how far they had taken her, only that they were still on the same floor. When they stopped, she was forced into a chair, the cool metal chilling her even through the fabric of the abaya she was wearing. Her arms were forced to meet around the back of the chair before being secured together by a rough rope. The bag was unceremoniously ripped from her head and she was left blinking in the harsh light.

 She was in yet another plain, unadorned room- the walls white, the light coming from bare bulbs in the ceiling. The men standing before her were new. None of them were the ones who had tortured her in the previous compound. She knew that with certainty- their faces would be burned into her memory for the rest of her life.

 There was a video camera mounted on a tripod aimed toward her. It was an older model, but one that would still record digital files. The red light near the lens remained off. It wasn’t recording yet.

 One of the men near the camera stepped forward, his appearance all business, though there was something dangerous in the way he held himself that put Clarke on edge. “You will read the information on the cards Sharif is holding. Do not stray from the script. Do you understand?”

 Clarke studied the man shrewdly, assessing his cold eyes and hard demeanor. She managed to pull together the best scathing look that she could in her condition and spat towards him – no easy feat considering how dehydrated she was.

 There was the harsh scrape of metal on a scabbard, and before Clarke could comprehend what was happening, one of her guards who was still standing at her side pushed her shoulder back toward the chair as he held his knife to her throat. Without warning, Clarke was overtaken by another violent coughing fit. She could feel the sharp edge of the blade part her skin in a tiny nick, but she was unable to pull away.

 The man by the camera held up his hand and said something that Clarke couldn’t understand. The blade was moved so that it no longer pressed into her skin but instead hovered just in front of her neck. She managed to catch her breath in small gasps through her nose as she tried to stifle any remaining wheezes by clenching her jaw.

 The man waited, then with exaggerated patience continued. “Your life means nothing to me. If you do not do this, you will not live to see tomorrow. Now I ask again, do you understand?”

 Clarke simply continued to glare at him.

 The man sighed dramatically and turned to the door. “She is of no use to us so we won’t be needing the soldier either. Kill them both.”

 Clarke felt panic rip through her. They couldn’t kill Bellamy too. He had to get home to Octavia. She had to make up for all of the stupid mistakes she’d made and get him out of here.

 “Wait!” she cried out, straining forward almost to the point of touching the knife again. “I’ll do it… please just- I’ll do it.”

 The man turned back to her with an unmistakable smirk twisting his features. “That’s what I thought."

 Clarke wanted to kick herself for being so stupid. If it had been a real kill order it wouldn’t have been in English. He’d been doing it to taunt her and she had walked right into his trap, not just giving him what he wanted, but also laying her weakness on the table for him to exploit. She felt bile rise in her throat.

 The leader nodded, and the one behind the camera flipped it on while a third held up a cardboard sign with barely legible letters scrawled across it. She bit her lip, resigning herself to the fact that she was going to have to do this. The knife was pressed back to her flesh urging her to hurry up.

 She took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back to sit as tall as she could. Her parents and god knew who else were going to see this recording. She needed to look like she was still holding strong for their sake.

 The man that Clarke assumed was the leader cleared his throat impatiently. She sighed then began to read.

 “My name is Clarke Griffin. This is a message for United States Senator Jacob Griffin and Dr. Abigail Griffin. I have been taken captive by the Al-Rashid Organization. My captors apologize for the poor current state of my health. They would like to assure you that they did not know of my relations in America and that I will be treated gently from this point on, so long as your cooperation is assured in a timely manner,” Clarke had to bite back a derisive laugh at that last statement- the result of which was yet another coughing fit. She did her best to hold it in. Her mother would know how bad of shape she was in and she didn’t want that.

 She gathered herself, then continued. “My captors are asking the reasonable price of 10 million dollars for my safe return. This amount must be sent in full by wire transfer within the next two weeks or else there will be dire consequences. This is a generous offer and should not be taken lightly.”

 Clarke scanned ahead and realized that the recording would be ending soon. She made a rash decision, deciding that she needed to try to get a message of her own out. It would likely get edited out of the video but she needed to at least make an attempt. Screwing up her courage, she tensed her shoulders and attempted to lean as far away from the knife as possible.

 “ _Mom, Dad I love you so much. Please tell Octavia that I’m so sorry for everything_ -“ she rushed to get out. Clarke could literally watch as the realization that she had gone off script changed each man’s expression. The one by the camera lunged to stop the recording, while the one holding the cardboard simply dropped it. The leader started towards her before she was distracted by the sharp sting of the blade slicing across her throat.

 For a brief moment she thought it was all over. Then she realized the amount of blood seeping down her neck and pooling at her collarbones was nowhere near enough to have come from a major blood vessel. The cut was superficial, only slicing through skin.

 She was conflicted about whether to feel relief or anguish that this wasn't over yet. But any emotion she may have felt was quickly quashed as she was hoisted from the seat by a rough hand on her throat, her arms hanging uselessly behind her. She stared into the enraged eyes of the group’s leader as she gasped ineffectually.

 “You insolent bitch,” he spat at her, before he dropped her to the ground, where she stumbled and fell back into the chair. The sharp sting of a slap whipped her head to the side and she was left with the unsettling sensation of the warm blood from his palm cooling as it dried on her face. “You’ll pay for this,” he promised her before turning his back and striding from the room.

 Without a word the bag was placed back over her head and she was dragged back into what she could only assume was the cell she had shared with Bellamy. There was a hard tug as the rope binding was cut from her wrists, then the sack was removed and she was thrown to the ground landing in a heap.

 There was a sharp inhale followed by a shocked exclamation of “ _Jesus Christ_ ,” and frantic rattling as, she assumed, Bellamy jerked desperately at the chains binding him to the wall as he tried to get to her.

 Clarke just laid on the ground unmoving, not even blinking. She was in shock, still trying to process the fact that she had almost just died. In fact she probably looked dead to Bellamy.

 When the clamor above her shifted from irregular clanking to sharp rhythmic jerks punctuated by pained grunts, Clarke finally snapped out of it, afraid he was going to break his wrists.

 She struggled clumsily into a sitting position and took in the wild look in his eyes as well as the deep red smears above and below his cuffs. “I’m fine,” she whispered hoarsely trying to reassure him. He just stared at her as if she had suddenly sprouted a second head.

 She balled up the end of one of her long flowing sleeves and pressed it firmly to the gash in her neck, doing her best to staunch the bleeding.

 “Clarke let me help you,” he pleaded with her, reaching toward her as much as he could.

 Clarke ducked her head, avoiding his gaze. She retreated back into the corner that she had occupied earlier, curling into herself and doing her best to block the stream of tears slowly meandering down her cheeks from his view. She obviously wasn’t fine, but she’d be damned if she let anyone see.

 Bellamy continued to call out to her, urging her to at least let him take a look at the wound. She tuned out his voice, tuned out _everything_  and stared blankly at the wall.

 She tried to formulate a plan but continuously came up empty. Her only goal was to get Bellamy home. She’d long since given up any hope of ever making it back herself. At this point death would have been a mercy, a release. Her panic when she’d felt the sting of that blade hadn’t been for herself, but for Bellamy. If what the leader had said could be believed, if she were killed they probably wouldn’t keep him alive either. Their fates seemed hopelessly intertwined.

 Which meant that she’d have to submit to these monsters’ will. She couldn’t risk pissing them off again. Not when Bellamy’s life was still at stake.

 Her stomach rolled nauseatingly at the thought.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Apologies for taking so long to post. I'm a professional dancer and Nutcracker season is a bitch. I've also recently gone back to school which is taking up a significant portion of my time. 
> 
> As always comments and kudos are very much appreciated, and also helpful at reminding me that it's been a long time since my last post ;)


	6. V

Clarke was isolating herself and Bellamy knew it. She barely ate. Though their captors had surprisingly been bringing them food regularly, she would at most nibble on a piece of bread (and struggle with even keeping that small amount down) before bringing the rest of the tray to him.

 He wanted to yell at her, rage at her, hell even _beg_ her to have more, to keep her strength up, to _not give up_. Instead he just silently watched time after time as she retreated back into the far corner of their cell, alone.

 In a small mercy, the men hadn’t returned for Clarke since that first time that she had come back bleeding and in shock. Bellamy mused that they were probably afraid that she’d provoke them into killing their hostage. Instead they’d come for him.

 What he could only assume was every day, they’d come into the cell, put a gun to Clarke’s head, and tell him they’d shoot her if he didn’t cooperate. Considering they’d nearly slit her throat, he believed them.

 Next he’d be dragged roughly with a bag over his head to another barren room, tossed unceremoniously into a hard chair, and restrained by his arms and legs.

 Two of the men were always the same. The rest varied, most of them young – new recruits. They’d been using him for interrogation training. They didn’t give a damn about his answers, hell most of the time they didn’t even ask any questions. All they cared about was making sure that the next generation knew how to torture.

 So far, in the six times that he’d ended up in this room, their favorite method seemed to be waterboarding. As they brought out the cloth and bucket, it appeared this time would be no different. As they pulled his head back by the hair and placed the mildew scented rag over his mouth and nose, Bellamy closed his eyes and took a deep breath, knowing that he wouldn’t get another for quite a while.

 He retreated back into himself, doing his best to block out what was happening to his physical body. In one of the few conversations that Clarke had had with him in the past week, she’d asked what they’d done to him. He’d assured her that it was nothing worse than what he’d gone through in SERE training. That had been an out right lie. At least in SERE training he knew that the officers in charge had ultimately wanted to keep him alive.

 The first torrent of water cascaded over his face, and after the first minute or so of holding his breath, he could no longer stop himself from gasping, and then choking at the drowning sensation. He was allowed a short reprieve to suck in what little oxygen he could manage, before it started again. After the third round his head was jerked back forward, signaling that he’d have a small as things were explained to the recruits.

 As he worked to catch his breath, he did his best to distract himself, thinking of literally anything else.

 Octavia. It had to have been at least three weeks since he’d left Baghdad – probably more. The month’s furlough that Marcus had gotten him would be running out any day now, which meant that he would be officially declared AWOL.

 It also meant that it would be time for John Murphy, his lawyer back in Virginia to take action.

 Bellamy had called him the moment he‘d left Octavia’s room at the hospital, not caring that it was the middle of the night back in the States. He’d left him explicit instructions that if 30 days passed and he hadn’t been heard from, John was to get in touch with Octavia and tell her everything.

 His sister was smart, she’d probably figure out most of it on her own. But still, she deserved to know with certainty that he hadn’t just abandoned her, and that some one really had done their best to bring Clarke home.

 He’d also ensured that all of his assets be left to her should he end up being declared dead. That was still a long ways off -years in fact- but it was important to him that he knew she’d be taken care of.

 It made his chest ache to think that his little sister might be getting some of the worst news of her life any day now, but it also gave him solace that she’d have solid answers.

 Once again his head was jerked back. More water cutting off his airway, leaving his lungs screaming for relief. Another shove forward.

 He spluttered pitifully while he tried to rearrange his scrambled thoughts.

 … Octavia. He still had to focus on his goal to get back home and see her again. Unfortunately he was at a loss. He hadn’t been able to pick up any useful information on where they were being kept, which left him no closer to building a plan to escape.

 But he also wasn’t kidding himself that he could just sit and game plan forever. Though Clarke seemed to be recovering from her illness, she certainly wasn’t getting physically stronger. And neither was he. His arms were still numb, despite the fact that the tight zip ties had been removed at least a week ago. That couldn’t be a good sign. Not to mention, the longer they stayed, the more opportunity it gave his captors to screw up and cause him to dry drown.

Or they could get frustrated and just kill them both.

 He was caught between a rock and a hard place. There was no easy answer. But he couldn’t help the notion in his gut that trying to get out of this situation blind was a terrible idea.

 Head back. No air. Head forward.

 This time they removed the cloth from his face and Bellamy was left blinking blearily in the harsh light from the bare bulb in the ceiling. This was different. They hadn’t gone through near enough rounds.

 Bellamy’s attention was snapped into focus by a high-pitched buzzing originating from the man standing closest to him. He was holding a cattle prod.

 Bellamy’s sluggish mind was still trying to catch up with what was about to happen, when the tip of the staff was brought down on his thigh. He clenched his jaw but couldn’t stop the grunt of pain that escaped as pain shot up and down his leg.

 This time he was given no reprieve. Shocks continued to rip through his legs causing his muscles to contract involuntarily as he pulled ineffectually at his restraints. Each shock was short but powerful, his nerves feeling like they were on fire to the point where he was unable to focus on anything else.

 Then all at once, his attention was snapped into crystal clear focus as the prod was brought to his chest and held there. He could literally feel the electricity racing across his wet shirt, forcing every muscle in his chest to clench and refuse to let go. His heart gave a stuttering thud, then another, then all of a sudden it was racing at an uncontrolled pace, giving no sign of slowing down.

 He was vaguely conscious of the electricity being removed and the men speaking in harsh voices. But all he could focus on was the fact that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get a full breath in. His heart continued to race and he swore he could hear the blood rushing through his ears with every lurching, panicked beat.

 He let his chin slump to his chest as a diffuse pain began to spread across his upper back and down his jaw. He continued to struggle for breath, but it was like his ribs wouldn’t expand enough to let the air in.

 His restraints were removed, and he was pulled to his feet and led back down the corridor towards his cell, but he was just going through the motions as if his head were in a fog. A cold, clammy sweat was breaking out on the back of his neck, contrasting sharply with the burning heat that he felt was radiating from every capillary in his face.

 When the men began to reattach his handcuffs back to their bracket in the cell, he just let them, leaning heavily against the wall and slowly sliding down it until he was sitting.

 “Bellamy?”

 The world tilted in confusing ways as the wall in front of him seemed to shift and get brighter. Maybe he was looking at the ceiling? He was still gasping for breath as the pressure in his chest continued to build.

 “ _Shit.”_

 The crazily frantic beat of his heart was no longer confined to his chest. It felt like his whole body was vibrating at a break-neck pace. Logically, he knew the panic that was taking over him wasn’t helping, that he should be trying to calm down. But that was easier said than done when he was pretty sure he was having a heart attack.

 “Bellamy you need to cough.”

 He was dimly aware that there was someone speaking to him. Some one with startling blue eyes. …Clarke? He knew he should probably do what she said.

 He tried, but barely managed a couple of weak wheezes.

 “Come on Bellamy, you need to cough harder. As hard as you can.”

 He took as deep of a breath as he was capable of and coughed as if his life depended on it – it probably did.

 His heart gave two more halting jolts, then went back to its regular rhythm. All of the pressure suddenly disappeared from his chest, making it feel strangely empty. It also felt like all of the blood suddenly drained away from his head, to the point where he was actually fairly surprised that he hadn’t blacked out.

 Taking the first deep breaths he’d been able to for a while, he took stock of his situation. He was lying on his back, with his head and shoulders raised on something soft – Clarke’s lap. She had two fingers pressed firmly to his carotid and was using her other hand to hold tightly to his. Her forehead was creased with concern, and she was biting one corner of her lip worriedly.

 In some far corner of his mind it clicked that this was the first time since she’d woken up that she’d willingly come anywhere near him. He fought back a derisive chuckle that it had only taken him nearly dying. This wasn’t exactly a laughing matter.

 She removed her hand from his throat and began to brush his drenched hair back from his forehead with shaking fingers. “You’re okay,” she murmured to him soothingly.

 He could feel her own elevated pulse where his cheek rested against her abdomen. She had been scared. Now the adrenaline was wearing off for both of them.

 Bellamy tried for a small smile. “I guess you picked up some useful stuff from your mom, huh?” She’d been quick on her feet in a crisis and had known exactly what to do. He wished he could say the same for himself if the situation had been reversed.

 Clarke’s shoulders tensed and she began to pull her hand away as she made to stand up.

 Bellamy cursed inwardly, wanting her to stay with him. He knew he was being selfish but he had to admit that he was still freaked out and he needed human contact right now. “Stay,” he pleaded with her softly as he squeezed the hand still holding one of his.

 She looked conflicted for a moment, but eventually settled back to the ground. “A friend of mine growing up, Harper, had a heart condition. I had to help her through an episode a few times,” she explained quietly.

 Bellamy sighed. He knew he shouldn’t have brought up her mom. It had just made logical sense to him that that’s where her knowledge would have come from. He took the hint to steer the conversation in a safer direction. “I think I remember Harper. Pretty… wore her hair in pigtails a lot.”

 Clarke let a surprise snort of laughter escape. “Yeah… in the sixth grade.”

 Bellamy smiled back, glad to see even the smallest spark of happiness in her. At this point Clarke had been imprisoned for nearly two months by his count. He was under no illusion that if they managed to escape, she would magically be alright psychologically. But seeing even a brief glimmer of joy in her expression gave him hope.

 Clarke began to shift under him uncomfortably. Bellamy prepared to transfer his weight, thinking he had caused her legs to fall asleep, when suddenly she broke the silence.

 “I should tell you what happened with my parents.”

 Bellamy looked into her eyes, trying to read what was going on in her mind to make her bring this up. “You don’t need to.”

 Clarke shook her head angrily. “No. You deserve to know what got us into this mess. Not that it will probably help you think any better of me. You always saw me for the spoiled little princess that I was.”

 “Clarke-“ Bellamy’s protest was barely audible.

 She sniffed and pulled her hand away from his hair to wipe harshly at the single tear that had managed to leak from her eye. “My mom was in a car accident three years ago. It was bad. She injured her back pretty severely, making everything, even just standing for more than 10 minutes at a time, extremely painful. She recovered remarkably quickly and went back to work within a couple of months. I was off at college and living in my own wonderful little fantasy world so I didn’t notice anything was off. I was completely blind to the signs.” She paused there to take a deep quavering breath.

 “I came home for Christmas break that year expecting everything to be normal. No one had said anything to me that would cause me to suspect differently. What I found instead was that the perfect family life I had been so used to, was torn to shreds. My parents were barely speaking to each other. My dad spent as much time as possible away from the house, and my mom was just so… out of it. I had no idea what had happened. The house was just so quiet and nobody was talking to me. One day I needed to get away, so I went over to visit Octavia. While I was there, Marcus pulled me aside and did his best to explain that my mom was hooked on prescription painkillers and my dad was in the process of filing for a divorce. I was blindsided.”

 Bellamy blinked, a little shocked himself. The Griffins had always seemed like the picture perfect family living the American dream.

 “I was lead to believe that my dad was divorcing her due to the fact that he had just been re-elected, and having an addict for a wife would look bad to his constituents. It _infuriated_ me. Addiction is an illness and you don’t just leave some one when they get sick. I _hated_ my dad for breaking up our family. I didn’t speak to him for a year and a half. Then one day I was visiting my mom at work and talking to one of her coworkers about which med schools I’d applied to. Offhand, he mentioned how great it was to see my mom back on her feet and how in the end it was a good thing that the hospital’s disciplinary board had decided to give her another chance.

“See - it turns out that the reason for my parent’s divorce wasn’t _just_ the drugs. It was the fact that my mom had been stealing drugs from the hospital. And if that wasn’t enough, she ended up getting caught because she went into a surgery so high that her hands were shaking, and punctured a patient’s aorta. He died on the table.”

 He could feel Clarke literally vibrating beneath him with suppressed rage. He didn’t know what to say. Everything she was saying just didn’t compute with what he had known about the family that lived next door.

 “She had fucking _killed_ someone. People can say that it wasn’t her, it was the drugs all that they want, but that’s bull. Drugs don’t erase responsibility. She made her choices. And beyond that, she _lied_ to me. She let me blame everything on my father and ruin our relationship, when everything was _her_ fault all along.”

 It sounded like it was a lot more complicated than that, but Bellamy really wasn’t one to judge. His own home life wasn’t exactly ideal either.

 “Things at home were just so suffocating. My relationship with both of my parents is strained beyond repair. And then after everything, I found out that Marcus and my mom are getting married… and for some reason it just made everything so much worse. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against him and I get how it happened. Marcus took on my mom as one of his ‘projects’ and got her into rehab.”

 Bellamy flinched slightly at the implication, but she wasn’t wrong. Kane had a penchant for taking on seemingly hopeless cases like him and his sister. Clarke didn’t appear to notice the unstated meaning behind what she had just said and continued.

 “It just felt like she was shutting the door on our family for good, and I couldn’t take it. So I stormed off like a spoiled teenager and I dragged your sister along with me. And I’m so, so sorry Bellamy. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

 Bellamy shifted his arms so that he could reach up and cup her cheek in his hand. Of course she hadn’t. There was no way that she possibly could have predicted that any of this would have happened. “Shh. None of this is your fault Clarke. And I’m going to keep telling you that until one day you believe it.”

 She stared into his eyes searchingly, but didn’t seem to find what she was looking for and turned away. He could feel her breath begin to come quicker and her body begin to shake as a panic attack set in.

 Afraid that she was going to go back to shutting him out and completely isolating herself if he didn’t back off, he made himself sit up and move away slightly to lean against the wall beside her. He didn’t want to push her too far too soon, but he kept holding her hand tightly as a silent reminder that he was there with her.

 He sat quietly and tried to come up with something that might distract her. He ended up going back years in his mind, trying to come up with a reminder of a happier time. At one particular memory from their childhood he couldn’t stop a low laugh from bursting through his chapped lips.

 Clarke gave him a weird look, not understanding what he could possibly find funny about their situation.

 Bellamy bit the inside of his cheek and studied their entwined hands before turning to catch her gaze. “Remember that time O called me in the middle of the night because your little attempt at going full vigilante hadn’t gone the way that you two planned?”

 Clarke flushed. “We were 12.”

 Bellamy chuckled. “I feel like 12 is old enough to know better. What was that kid’s name again? The weird, skinny one you two were trying to defend.”

 Clarke relaxed back slightly, becoming sidetracked by the memory. “Jasper. He was getting bullied at school.”

 Bellamy nodded. “So the two of you decided to go toilet paper the biggest, meanest bully’s house.”

 Clarke smiled slightly at the memory. “We left his parents a letter too, detailing what a little shit their son was.”

 “Only the two of you weren’t expecting his parents to drive up while you were still outside, so you dropped everything and ran.”

 Clarke sighed, leaning her head back against the wall. “Octavia twisted her ankle running through the ravine behind their house. She didn’t want to call you, but she couldn’t walk. I felt so bad for getting her into trouble-“

 “Clarke, stop.” Bellamy interrupted her. She rolled the back of her head against the wall to meet his gaze and he gave her a wry smile. “I know it wasn’t your plan. That hair-brained scheme had Octavia’s name written all over it. Even though you insisted on taking the blame, I always knew it wasn’t your fault.”

 A small blush colored Clarke’s cheeks as she rushed to stammer out an explanation. “Octavia was scared. She was afraid if she got into trouble, Marcus wouldn’t want her anymore and he’d kick her out. Looking back now I realize how ridiculous that was. Marcus always loved the two of you unconditionally. There isn’t a single thing either one of you could have done to change that.”

 Bellamy felt his gut clench. She obviously didn’t know Marcus Kane as well as she thought she did. Someone who loved their adopted son unconditionally wouldn’t have sent him off into enemy territory with no plan and nearly no hope for escape, would he?

 Trying to save face and not take a step back from the progress they’d made with trusting each other by contradicting her, he elected to change the subject.

 “Thank you, Clarke,” he whispered to her quietly, giving her hand a firm squeeze. “I didn’t say it before, but I’m saying it now. What you did for me today and everything that you did to get Octavia home… You’re incredible. I want you to know that.”

 She didn’t respond to his comment, but the corner of her lips twitched in what could almost be considered a smile. At least she hadn’t rushed to deny any form of praise this time.

 He’d take that as a small victory.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos give me motivation. Therefore, more comments and kudos will probably make me write faster :)


	7. VI

_The street had the slightest haze to it, causing the colors to be just far enough off to be noticeable. It was almost like watching an old film. He spun in a slow circle, trying to orient himself to where he was._

_The houses on either side of the street were small, old, and in need of repair. There was something familiar about the neighborhood that Bellamy couldn’t quite put his finger on. One house in particular drew his eye, it’s clapboard exterior weathered and greying. There was a small swing on the front porch that peeked something on the edge of his memory, just barely beyond his grasp._

_“Bell,” at the sound of his name he turned around once more, to find Octavia standing in the middle of the street, staring at him expectantly. She looked positively radiant, a long white dress hugging her body, with intricate lace trailing out behind her._

_Bellamy stared at her completely confused. What was she doing here? Where had she come from?_

_Octavia cocked an eyebrow at him and gave him a playful smile. “Why aren’t you dressed yet? You’re going to be late.”_

_Looking down at himself, he saw that he was wearing his fatigues, and they were filthy – caked in sand, dust, and worse. “Late?” he asked her, not really sure exactly where it was that he was expected to be._

_Octavia gave him an exasperated sigh, throwing her hands up in the air, like she had so many times when she was a child. “To my wedding, you oaf.”_

_Something about that wasn’t sitting right with Bellamy. “Why didn’t I know that it was today?”_

_Octavia’s face instantly went back to one of her signature mischievous smiles. “Because Link and I wanted to surprise you. Now hurry up. You still have to pick up Clarke before you come.”_

_At the mention of her name, Bellamy became aware of the blonde, standing just on the edge of his peripheral vision. She was back to wearing the filthy cover up he had found her in, and her face and body were caked in dirt and grime._

_Bellamy’s gut began to twist uncomfortably. There was no question that something about this wasn’t right._

_He watched as Clarke casually strode barefoot towards an old pick up truck parked at one edge of the street. It was rusted out, the paint sandblasted in many places, to the point that it was hard to tell what color it had been to begin with._

_That vehicle didn’t belong on this street - Bellamy was sure of that. There was something familiar about it… something that continued to poke and nag at his brain._

_Then suddenly it hit him, just as Clarke was reaching for the handle of the passenger door._

_“Clarke! Get away from there!” He screamed, while in the same motion he turned back to his sister, tossing her unceremoniously over his shoulder, and sprinting as fast as he could in the opposite direction._

_The shockwave hit with enough force that he was sent sprawling into the grass, unable to keep his hold on Octavia. He looked up, desperate to see if she had survived, but there was no one there._

 ---

 Bellamy jolted awake. He was breathing as heavily as if he really had just been running for his life. He blinked slowly, taking in the familiar walls of his drab cell. He must have drifted off.

 Wiping sweat from his brow, he pushed himself into a sitting position. Clarke had left a bottle of water near his arm, and he brought it to his lips gratefully.

 She was pacing, or the closest to pacing that she could manage in her condition, on the other side of their small prison. Bellamy grimaced at the stiltedness of her walk, the pained hunch to her body, and how labored her breathing had become. “Clarke, you need to save your strength,” he reminded her quietly.

 Clarke started at the sound of his voice, obviously not having realized that he was awake. She whirled to face him, her eyes bright with dread. “There’s got to be a way.”

 Bellamy sighed. He wasn’t in the mood to rehash this argument. Ever since his electrocution induced arrhythmia, Clarke had made it her mission to plan their escape. Unfortunately they were still working with the same lack of information, and therefore any conversations that they’d had on the topic had been short lived and teeming with frustration. She seemed more agitated today than usual though, and Bellamy idly wondered why.

 “Clarke…” he started, unsure how to phrase things again without causing her to lose hope. “Even if we managed to make it out of this compound, we have no idea where we are anymore. It could be miles to the nearest town. In your condition I just don’t think…”

 It was at that point that he clued into the set of her jaw and the steely determination in her eyes. “No,” he stammered, scrambling to his feet.

 Clarke threw up her hands. “You were literally just in the process of telling me I’m not going to make it out anyway.”

 Bellamy scoffed. “This is the same shit you pulled with Octavia to get her to leave, isn’t it?”

 Clarke faltered, having the decency to look slightly ashamed. “We never would have both made it out. It was the right thing to do.”

 Bellamy softened slightly. “I know. And as much as it pains me to say it, I’ll forever be grateful that you did. But this isn’t the same situation. It is literally my _mission_ to get you out of here. There’s no way in hell you’re going to convince me to leave without you.”

 Clarke turned away from him, her shoulders visibly tensing. Apparently, she could no longer meet his gaze. “What if you don’t have a choice?”

 Bellamy felt his spine crawl at the tone of her voice. “What do you mean?”

 Clarke sighed heavily. She turned back to face him but kept her eyes firmly glued to the floor. “When they sent the ransom message, they gave my parents two weeks. If what we’ve guessed about how often they bring us food is correct, that offer expires tomorrow.”

 “Clarke-“ he tried to interrupt her, but she continued on as if he hadn’t spoken.

 “We both know that the ransom won’t be paid. Even if my parents liquidated their assets, the US government wouldn’t allow it. We’re out of time Bellamy.”

 He shook his head. “The terrorists will stall and try again. You’re still worth more to them alive than dead.”

 “Maybe so, but are _you_? They’re not going to let the deadline pass without consequences. And I’m not going to let you stay here and die for me.”

 Bellamy ground his teeth. “That isn’t your decision to make.”

 “Bellamy-“

 “No,” he growled. This time it was his turn to interrupt her. “I’m not leaving you to die over a hypothetical. And nothing you say is going to change my mind.” He stepped back to the wall and sunk down to his butt signaling that he was ending the conversation.

 Clarke continued to stand there and stare at him, literally shaking with frustration. Her breathing became more labored until she was back to another coughing fit, making Bellamy feel like a dick.

 He groaned and sat up. “Come here,” he motioned her toward him. She glared at him suspiciously for a moment, but eventually relented, moving to kneel beside him.

 When she was seated on the ground, he gently took her by the shoulders and leaned her torso against his broad chest. He could feel the tension thrumming throughout her body, causing her muscles to feel as tight as bowstrings. “Try to match my breathing,” he encouraged her softly.

 She stubbornly remained rigid in his embrace for a moment, but quickly gave in, allowing herself to relax back against him and do her best to follow his directions.

 When she had finally calmed down, she quietly admitted to him, “I can’t be the reason that Octavia loses her brother.”

 He was utterly tempted to remind her for what felt like the thousandth time, that none of this was her fault, but he was fairly confident that the sentiment would once again fall on deaf ears. Instead he elected to wordlessly pull her in tighter until her head rested comfortably between the crook of his neck and his shoulder.

 This was the most intimate that she had allowed him to be with her. Her walls were slowly breaking down and permitting her to let him in. It was a feeling that he himself was just as unfamiliar with. He hadn’t let anyone this close since his mom died. Not even Kane. He’d always viewed things as him and Octavia against the world.

But he knew that in this case they needed each other. There was no way around it. If worst came to worst and they didn’t make it past the next day, at least they’d have drawn some small measure of comfort from one another.

 He sat and idly traced circles on her arm with his fingertips for a moment, still unable to relax his own thoughts. There was absolutely nothing calming or tranquil about the environment they were in right now. He admired Clarke’s ability to block it all out and re-center herself, but he wondered in there was something more he could do to help. “Tell me about the place in the world where you’ve felt the most at peace… like everything was perfect and you wish you could’ve just stay in that moment forever.”

 Clarke’s answer was almost instantaneous. Maybe her thoughts had been straying along the same lines. “Colorado,” she responded with a small quirk to her lips. “My dad has a cabin in Rocky Mountain National Park. We used to go a lot when I was a kid.”

 Bellamy couldn’t help but be a little surprised by her answer. From a girl who had travelled the world and probably ‘found her center’ doing yoga in a rainforest canopy somewhere, he hadn’t expected an answer so close to home.

 “Back then my dad was rising through the political ranks and there was so much pressure to come across as the perfect family. But out in the mountains all of that disappeared. I was allowed to just be me. My parents probably gave me more freedom than they should have, and I was allowed to explore and go on hikes by myself. There’s something about how nature cuts you off from the outside world that just melts the stress away. Sometimes I’d just wander off, find a stump, and sit there and draw for hours.”

 Bellamy did his best to picture it in his head. He’d never been to the Rockies, but he did his best, trying to imagine the birds singing, the light slanting through the trees, the smell of the pine needles…

 “What about you? Where’s your happy place?” She turned her head slightly to look at him.

 Bellamy actually had to stop and think for a moment. He hadn’t lived the same privileged childhood that Clarke had. Money had been tight, and he’d never felt comfortable accepting handouts from Kane. After that he’d joined the military, and though it had finally given him the opportunity to travel, those trips weren’t exactly filled with happy memories.

 After racking his brain for a few moments, he finally came up with something, and allowed himself to smile fondly at the recollection. “Once when we were pretty little, mom had the day off and took us on a road trip. She just drove to the coast and headed south. Eventually we came across this little beach. There was no one else there, it wasn’t the type of beach that tourists flock to. Just a little stretch of sand separated from the highway by a stand of trees. I remember just sitting there and watching. The water in the sound was so calm. We didn’t stay very long. Octavia was afraid she’d get eaten by an alligator. She couldn’t have been much more than 3,” He added with a small smirk. “But I’d give anything to be back there right now.”

 The two of them sat in companionable silence for a bit - Bellamy continuing to trace nonsensical patterns on her arm, while she worried the edge of the pocket on his fatigues between her fingertips.

 “I’m going to take you back to the mountains someday,” He murmured into her hair.

 Clarke pulled away, her eyebrows creasing. “Don’t-“

 Bellamy silenced her with a look. “I will.”

 The door opened with a creak. With a sigh, Bellamy gently pushed Clarke away from him in order to make sure that their captors didn’t think that she was trying to get in the way. Resignedly, he got to his feet, keeping his eyes on Clarke the whole time. He knew that they were coming for him, and he wanted to reassure her that he would be alright.

 Which is why it came as a shock when the cold muzzle of the gun was pressed into his forehead instead of hers. Bellamy’s eyes snapped to the relentless cold stare of the man in front of him, trying to prize out what was going on. Was Clarke right? Was this his execution?

 Instinctively his hands reached toward where she had just been, aiming to give her one last reassuring hand squeeze. When his fingertips didn’t so much as brush her abaya, he whipped his head to see where she had gone.

 Two men had grabbed her while he was distracted, and were currently wrestling her towards the door. She was doing her best to fight back, but was outmatched by a long shot. The man with the gun barked at Bellamy not to move, but he ignored him, trying to get to her before he ran out of chain. “What’s going on? Where are you taking her?” he demanded.

 The butt of the pistol slammed into the side of his skull and he was left reeling, falling to his knees. His thoughts scattered once more, but he was able to make out the reply.

 “It’s taking too long. The infidels need to be taught that we are not playing games,” the final man sneered at him, before following his colleagues and slamming the door behind him.

 Bellamy gagged on a wave of nausea, his hand flying to the side of his head. He took a few deep breaths through his nose, fighting back the bile rising in his throat. He hadn’t expected this. They’d been leaving Clarke alone. He had grown complacent in the comfort that she wasn’t actively being harmed.

 Bellamy did his best to blink the blurriness from the edges of his vision, as he scanned the room, trying to come up with anything that would help him form a plan. He needed to get to her. He couldn’t sit back and let this happen.

 There was nothing. Just the mostly empty water bottle he’d discarded and the now empty plastic food tray sitting just out of his reach.

 He pulled futilely at the chain securing his wrists to the wall. He’d tried this before, the last time they’d taken Clarke. It’d done nothing but bloody his wrists then. It was doing the same now.

 He could vaguely hear muffled voices coming from down the hall- more intonations than actual words. Clarkes voice stood out as being high pitched, terrified.

 He gave one more hard pull at the cuffs and hissed as he felt his chafed skin give. He wondered idly about trying to slip the restraints off rather then pulling them free. Hunkering down against the pain, he tried different combinations of twisting and pulling the metal toward his fingers, but none of it worked. The cuffs were tight to his skin, and no matter what he did, his bones were not going to magically shift to fit through.

 He’d read once about someone breaking their own thumb to get out of handcuffs, but he banished the thought immediately. Having broken hands would make him absolutely useless in a fight, and there was definitely no way that they would be getting out of this peacefully.

 “ _No_!” This time Clarke’s desperate scream was actually decipherable, and it caused his heart to give a lurching thud.

 Fighting to remain as calm as he could, he examined the cuffs, trying to come up with a new plan. The bracket holding them to the wall was secured by a couple of screws. Flexing his wrist back awkwardly, he managed to somewhat wedge part of the curved metal into the divot on the screw head. Now the problem was leverage. His arms only had so much range of motion.

 He’d succeeded in making only about half a rotation, when the angle forced the lesion on his wrist wider. He felt his head spin dangerously, as a fresh wave of warm blood leaked toward his elbow. Falling back on his ass, he promised himself that he was only taking a short break to catch his breath and regroup. It wasn’t ideal. But at the moment this was the best option he’d come up with. He could push through it. Maybe. Or maybe he’d just make himself pass out from blood loss and what good would he be then?

 “ _Stop… please_ ,” Clarke’s pleas were like knives stabbing him in the gut. He’d thought she was safe, relatively speaking. He could handle whatever torture they piled upon him, but hearing Clarke go through it was infinitely worse. Why hadn’t he tried harder to find a way to get them out? Hell, how had he let things spiral down into being this dismal in the first place?

 If only he’d managed to keep some of the supplies that he’d had with him before he was captured. The knife… the goddamn sat-phone… even the _steel pin_.

 Bellamy’s gut lurched, gorge rising. He was still wearing his fatigue pants. Hastily, he turned down the edge of his waistband, and sure enough, the bare incandescent light of the room glinted off of the tiniest speck of metal.

 He threw up.

 He’d had a way to get out of the fucking cuffs this whole time and he’d forgotten about it. He didn’t care if he’d had a head injury. There was no excuse.

 With shaking hands he tried to pull the small pin out, but was unsuccessful. Between the vertigo, the tremors, and the fact that the main sensation coming from his arms was still pins and needles, he couldn’t do it by himself. Sourly, he reminded himself that even if he did manage to get it out, he didn’t trust himself not to drop it and have it roll into a crack in the floor to be lost forever.

 He’d have to wait for Clarke to come back… that was assuming that they ever brought her back.

 He made a silent pledge to himself that he was never letting them take her out of his sight again. They’d have to go through his dead body.

 Despondently, he settled back against the wall with his head in his hands. He couldn’t do anything now; he was going to have to wait.

 Clarke’s cries continued to echo off the walls. With each new sound he hated himself more and more. He could have prevented this. He could have strategized with her. Anything would have been better than just dismissing any escape plans she’d brought up as hopeless.

 This was his fault.

 He felt salty tears trace their way down his cheeks. He didn’t have the energy to wipe them away.

 Eventually the sounds coming from down the hall grew silent. Bellamy’s chest felt hollow as he waited to learn just how badly Clarke had been brutalized.

 He didn’t have to wait long as the door creaked open once more. He lifted his head and watched as Clarke stumbled through on her own two feet, before the door was shut again.

 Bellamy sat silently, ashamed. He wanted to say something, anything, but couldn’t bring himself to do more than just watch her.

 Without looking at him, Clarke crossed the room in short strides. She had a slight limp, and her body was more hunched than it had been in a while, as she clutched at her ribs and low belly. Other than that, Bellamy couldn’t pick out anything obvious that would indicate what had been done to her. He felt like he was holding his breath as he waited for the other shoe to drop.

 Without a word, Clarke went back to that damn far corner out of his reach, the corner she hadn’t occupied once in the last week as they grew closer to one another. She kept her back turned to him as she sunk down, curling into herself.

 “Clarke?” he called out to her, concern dripping from his voice.

 Her shoulders began to shake with silent sobs, but she gave no other indication that she had heard him.

 He waited, wanting to give her time to process. But as seconds turned into minutes, and those stretched even longer, he had to talk to her. Watching her like this was shattering whatever tiny piece of his heart was still whole.

 “Clarke please… don’t shut me out again.”

 Still nothing.

 He tried a few more tactics that had worked to get her talking before: talking about Octavia, even asking if she would help bandage his wrists. Nothing got a reaction from her.

 She was really starting to scare him.

 Bumping his head back against the wall in frustration, and regretting it as a fresh wave of nausea rolled through his stomach, he resolved to just keep talking to her. Hopefully he’d stumble across something that would at least get her to look at him.

 It turned out that the first thing that he said was the only thing that he needed.

 “We’re getting out of here tonight.”

 She lifted her head and turned to meet his gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had content that was more on the triggering side, but it's super vague. My apologies if it offended any readers. I added a tag to indicate that there is triggering content in the work, but didn't want to spoil anything by making a note at the beginning of the chapter. That said, if you're concerned, things aren't going to get graphic on that front. It was an important plot point that I debated leaving out, but it's too important to Clarke's future interactions with everyone. Hopefully you'll still be willing to read.
> 
> Next chapter Clarke and Bellamy will be making their big move!
> 
> Please let me know if you're enjoying this work by leaving comments or kudos :)


	8. VII

  _“We’re getting out of here tonight.”_

 Clarke stared at him, trying to assess whether he was telling the truth or simply trying to get a reaction out of her. She studied his face. He looked like hell – in far worse shape than he’d been in before she’d been taken. His skin was ashen, and his unruly curls were slicked with sweat to his forehead. His eyes were bright, almost feverish, but also set with determination.

 He was serious.

 Clarke shifted slightly, trying to get a better read on the situation. What had changed? An hour ago he had been convinced that they didn’t have any chance of escaping. She highly doubted that he’d come up with any new information to help him form a plan in her absence. Which could only mean that he’d learned something else about their situation that was forcing him to act. Surely he couldn’t know…

  _Don’t go there._

 She inhaled sharply and shook her head, determined to distract herself from thinking about what she had just gone through. “How?”

 Bellamy didn’t answer her right away. She studied him closer, taking in the set of his jaw, the tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, the slight trembling of his shoulders. _What the hell?_ “Bellamy, wha-“

 “I-“ Bellamy cut himself off sharply, shaking his head angrily. He took a slow, deliberate breath, obviously collecting himself. “I have a way out of the cuffs, but I need your help.”

 Cautiously, she unfurled herself from the ball that she’d curled into in the corner. Slowly, painfully, she pulled herself to her feet, then hovered there unsure. Nothing that had happened was his fault, but she still didn’t want to go near him. She had a niggling, irrational fear that he’d be able to sense what she’d gone through, if he hadn’t figured it out already.

 She felt dirty. More so now than before, which was ridiculous considering how caked in filth they both were. But she couldn’t bear the thought of him thinking that she was tainted in some way.

 Bellamy gestured for her to come towards him, and with a sigh she took a couple of small steps in his direction, still keeping her distance.

 Bellamy gave her a weary look, but didn’t comment on her reluctance. “There’s a small metal pin in my waistband by my right hip. I need you to take it out.”

 Clarke’s spine crawled. It was such an odd request. He was pulling at the top of his pants, probably trying to make it easier for her to reach, but it caused her to flash to a different memory. She felt bile rise in the back of her throat.

  _This was Bellamy_ , she reminded herself. He wasn’t going to hurt her. Taking a deep shuddering breath, she hesitated for only a moment with her trembling hand extended toward him, before shaking her mind back to the present and setting to work.

 There was indeed a tiny bit of metal poking through the fabric. She did her best to maneuver it around, trying to find a way to pull it out. Bellamy’s hot breath ghosted across the back of her neck and she struggled to keep her shoulders from tensing.

 Finally, she managed to pry it free. She was left with a thin but sturdy steel pin, only about an inch long, in the palm of her hand. She raised an eyebrow at him questioningly, unsure how this insignificant object was going to help them, unless it had been pulled from a grenade that he’d somehow failed to mention.

 Bellamy extended both wrists toward her with his palms facing up. “You need to insert the shim where the teeth slide into the cuff.”

 Clarke looked down at his wrists and blinked hard, realizing for the first time just how badly he was bleeding. How had she missed that? “Holy shit, Bellamy-“

 He shook his head firmly. “Focus Clarke. You can worry about me later.”

 She did as she was told, inserting the pin into his left cuff. When it was wedged in, he continued. “Now keep pushing on the shim while you tighten the cuff. It should release.”

 Clarke looked at him sharply. “No way. Bellamy you’re already bleeding pretty badly. That’s just going to make the cuts deeper. You could bleed out.”

 “I’ll be fine,” Bellamy’s voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. “You need to do this Clarke.”

 She didn’t want to hurt him, but she knew she didn’t have a choice. Yes, the terrorists had gotten their message across by what they had just done, but she didn’t trust that they wouldn’t still kill Bellamy the next day. Or the day after. The time for stalling was over.

 With a wince, she dug the bracket further into his already tormented flesh, and watched as a fresh rivulet of blood seeped up, then quickly rolled toward the floor. Bellamy was already pulling his hand free before she even realized that it had worked. She reached for it quickly, wanting to stem the bleeding, but he shook his head, gesturing to his remaining wrist. “If they come back, I’m going to need both hands. We’ve only got one shot.”

 Clarke pursed her lips, but made quick work of the other side of the restraints. As soon as the echo of the handcuffs hitting the floor rattled, she was grabbing both of his wrists, applying firm pressure, and bringing them higher than the level of his heart.

 Bellamy tried for an amused smile, but fell slightly short, his skin growing even more pallid. “Honestly Clarke, its not as bad as you think. I’ve always been a bleeder.”

 Clarke was incredibly skeptical, but after holding his wrists for at least five minutes – long enough that her anxiety was ready to hurl her across the room – she released one hand to take a closer peek.

 He was right. His wrist was incredibly raw, and it would certainly leave a hell of a scar, but it didn’t look like he’d damaged any major blood vessels. In fact, the bleeding had nearly stopped.

 Which didn’t explain why he looked like he was about thirty seconds away from keeling over.

 She pressed firmly on his shoulders, forcing him back until he was sitting propped up against the wall once again. Squatting in front of him, she took his face in her hands, turning it from side to side. She spotted a purpling bruise, just below his hairline. “What happened?”

 Bellamy grimaced, in obvious pain from the way she was moving his head. “I got pistol whipped again. I’ll be fine.”

 Clarke blocked the light from one of his eyes with her hand, then quickly moved it away, and watched as his pupil was slow to react. She cursed inwardly, feeling her chest constrict. This was not a good start to an escape attempt.

 “You’re not fine,” she chided him. “Now sit here and don’t move.”

 In an almost robotic state, she tore strips from the hem of her abaya and tightly bandaged his wrists. Then she retrieved the open handcuffs from the floor. Examining the heavy wall bracket that they were attached to, she made note of the fact that he had apparently already tried loosening one of the screws.

 She plopped down cross-legged and began working on it herself.

 “What are you doing?” Bellamy asked. She noted that he had actually followed her directions and hadn’t moved, though he was following her with his eyes.

 She shrugged. “I highly doubt we’re going to get out of here using our bare hands and sheer force of will. And we’re kind of short on options for weapons.” She indicated the 6 feet of chain still attached to the wall pointedly.

 If she were being honest, she was also making busy work. She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to have to reflect on what she’d just been through. In all likelihood, she wouldn’t make it through the next few hours. There was no point in torturing herself until then.

 Her shoulders began to shake as forcing herself not to think about it just caused her to think about it even more. She did her best to hide the quiet hitches in her breath caused by her sobs from Bellamy, but was obviously doing a poor job of it.

 “Clarke,” he whispered to her softly. He gingerly reached towards her, his fingertips barely brushing the center of her back. She nearly jumped out of her skin at the unexpected touch. “What did they-“

 “Don’t,” she cut him off harshly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

 Finishing her work on the last screw, she tossed the now freed chain into his lap, then quickly turned her back, striding away before he could see the tear tracks.

 When she reached the door, she gave it an experimental tug, hoping that they’d have just one shred of luck. She’d never bothered to check if the terrorists had kept it locked before this point. She’d had no reason to. She would have never left Bellamy behind. After the third hard tug, she conceded that this wasn’t a break that they would catch tonight.

 Through the door she heard raucous laughter. She froze – it was a sound that she now recognized- it would haunt her dreams. The voices were coming closer, probably seeking a round two. She did her best not to recoil, instead sinking back towards the door’s hinges, hoping that she might briefly hide and gain the element of surprise.

 In her distracted state, she hadn’t noticed that Bellamy had joined her - his back pressed to the wall on the opposite side of the door, his stance poised and ready for a fight.

 She looked into his deep brown eyes, only feet away. If this were to be the end, there was so much that she wanted to say. She wanted to thank him for risking everything, for never failing to be her rock, even when she’d done everything in her power to push him away. She wanted to assure him that even though she probably wouldn’t make it out of here, he needed to keep going and make it out himself.

 She was stopped from expressing any of this by the door flying open. It was the same three men that had taken her earlier. Before any of them had the chance to compute what they were walking into, Bellamy had grabbed the head and shoulders of the first man and given a sharp wrench. The horrible crunch of his spine snapping would be seared into Clarke’s brain for the rest of her life. He fell limply to the floor.

 The two remaining men shouted in outrage and both went after Bellamy, completely ignoring her existence. At his prime, Bellamy might have been able to hold them off, but in his weakened state, they managed to back him into a corner quickly, slashing at him brutally with knives until he was forced to his knees.

 Clarke couldn’t just stand by and watch. Without thinking, she kicked the closest man in the side of the knee with everything she had, causing it to buckle. He lunged at her, knocking her to the ground.  She felt her already damaged ribs give under the pressure and found herself gasping for air. Light glinted off the tip of a long knife, as the man raised it high above his head, straddling her hips, and pinning her to the concrete below.

 She flailed her arms desperately, trying to find anything that might come to her aid. Fingers grasped around a plastic edge and she snapped what she was holding forward just in the knick of time. She watched as the blade stabbed through the center of the meal tray in her hands. He was so strong, she could do little more than push his momentum to the side, causing the blade to hit the floor harmlessly.

 Just as the man reared back to try to hit her again, the length of chain appeared around his throat and his weight was rolled off of her.

 Clarke scrambled back on her hands and feet, ignoring the pain that flared through her side. Bellamy was grappling on the floor with her attacker. She could tell that his strength was waning.

 She reached beside her and retrieved the discarded knife. Not bothering to waste time by pulling it free from the tray, she slammed it into the terrorist’s side. He continued to struggle briefly, but quickly faded, his motions slowing into stillness. Bellamy continued to hold the chain taut across his neck for a few more minutes just to be sure.

 Clarke surveyed the room, holding her side. The third man lay in the corner where she had last seen Bellamy, the handle of a knife protruding from his sternum.

 Bellamy gingerly rose to his feet and glanced down the hall, assessing whether there was any more imminent danger headed their way. Apparently satisfied, he trotted back into the room and started to sort through what the dead men had that they could use.

 Finding the first man’s handgun, he checked the clip to make sure that it was loaded. He held it up, aiming toward the open door, looking down the sight. Clarke watched his arm shake violently as he did his best to concentrate. She stayed silent as he swore a blue streak.

 “Have you ever fired a gun?” he asked her through gritted teeth.

 She doubted that her aim would be any better than his under their current circumstances, but she also wanted to reassure him. “My dad is a politician from Virginia with a hunting cabin in the Rockies,” she reminded him with a small smirk.

 He nodded and handed her the heavy firearm. She accepted it with the hand she wasn’t currently using to stabilize her chest. She pulled herself back to the wall and used it to leverage herself into more of a seated position with a heavy wince.

 Clarke inspected Bellamy from where she was sitting, trying to assess any further injuries he’d received while he continued to pick over the bodies. He had a split lip, and there was a deep cut oozing blood over one of his cheekbones, but other than that he looked none the worse for wear, despite having just taken on three men. It was a small miracle.

 Bellamy examined the feet of each of the terrorists and began unlacing the boots of the one closest to his size. “They’re all too big for you,” he lamented as he began shoving his feet into his new footwear. He then pried out one of the knives and began cleaning it off on the dead man’s clothes before hiding it securely near his ankle.

 Clarke rolled her eyes at him. “I’ll never be able to keep up with you anyway.”

 Bellamy silenced her with a look as he made his way over to retrieve the second knife. He also stole the first man’s jacket, apparently in an attempt to better blend in.

 When he appeared to be satisfied by his haul, he came back to where she was sitting. Grasping her firmly by the arm still holding the gun, he hauled her to her feet.

 She couldn’t hold back the keening cry that escaped her lips as her ribs shifted under the change in pressure.

 “Shit,” he muttered, just managing to get his shoulders under her extended arm before she fell.

 She held the collar of his jacket in a white knuckled grip as he shifted her to face him. His fingers deftly palpated her chest. She let out a small whimper when she felt the crepitus as her bones shifted once again.

 Bellamy pursed his lips, and began to squat down as if getting ready to carry her.

 “No,” Clarke’s voice was firm. She feebly pushed at his shoulder, and to her surprise he stepped back.

 “Clarke I’m not leaving this room without you,” he informed her.

 Bracing a hand against the wall, she pulled herself up as tall as she could. Taking as deep of a breath as she could manage, she gave him a tight nod. She knew she wasn’t going to change his mind. Not yet at least. “I can do this,” she assured him.

 Bellamy looked unconvinced, but relented nonetheless. “Stay close,” he ordered her, pulling her in so tightly behind him that she was practically leaning on his back. “Only fire the gun if absolutely necessary. We don’t want to draw attention and we have a limited number of bullets.”

 Clarke nodded to show that she understood. They began their slow trek down the hallway, Bellamy doing his best to make himself big in front of her, like a human shield. Clarke hated how slow he had to move because of her. She was doing her best to keep up, but constantly had to pause to catch her breath. He never allowed himself to move more than 3 feet away from her. If they kept this pace up, it might take them all day just to leave the building.

 The lower floor of the complex was virtually deserted. They passed several rooms with closed doors and no light creeping out from underneath. Clarke shuddered involuntarily as she wondered which of these spaces had served as their torture chambers.

 When they made it to a set of cement stairs, Bellamy reached back with his free hand, stilling her in her tracks. He nodded his head toward the top of the stairwell and she watched as a dark shadow made its way across. There was someone up there.

 He gave her a meaningful look, obviously trying to communicate with her that she needed to stay there while he went up. She wanted to retort at him that he was being stupid, considering she was the one holding the gun. Instead she just nodded at him, understanding that the need for silence was paramount.

 As he made his way up the steps, she crept up a few stairs as well, wanting to be ready to jump in at the first sign of trouble. Bellamy disappeared around the corner above, and her heart gave a jolt as adrenaline once again overwhelmed her system.

 A strangled cry rang out, then abruptly cut off. Clarke made it up two more stairs before Bellamy’s head reappeared. He rolled his eyes at the fact that she hadn’t followed his unspoken order, but motioned her the rest of the way up.

 When she made it to him, she was met with the sight of the lower level guard’s body sprawled on the floor. Bellamy leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “It looks like there’s an exit just down that hall.” He gestured to their right. He squatted down to retrieve the AK-47 still strapped to the dead guard’s body.

 As he was still pulling on the strap, a shout echoed from the opposite hallway. Clarke’s head snapped towards the noise, where she found at least five heavily armed men barreling towards them.

 “Fuck,” Bellamy grunted, dropping his prize and reaching for her hand instead. He pulled her towards the awaiting exit, this time unable to go slow. Clarke allowed him to give her momentum, her feet moving at a rapid rhythmic pace, just trying to keep up. She didn’t dare look behind them, focusing all of her concentration on just moving forward. A shot rang out, burying itself in the plaster wall just above Bellamy’s head. That gave her legs the incentive to move faster.

 Bellamy propelled them through an open doorway, and cool evening air raced across her sweat drenched skin. Bellamy didn’t slow down, just continued to drag her towards a high chain-link fence. His running footsteps were almost silent as he stealthily made his way across the sand. The guards at the gate didn’t even turn around as they approached, simply continuing to chat quietly as they lounged at their posts.

 Without a word, Bellamy took the handgun from her grasp, and continued forward, towards their destination. The men started to turn, hearing the shouts coming from their comrades who were just now leaving the facility.

 Standing directly behind the first guard, Bellamy put a shot into the back of his head before he could even comprehend what was about to happen. Without pause, the SEAL turned and fired at the second man, hitting him right between the eyes. At such a close range, the shaking in his arms didn’t matter - his aim was true. A third bullet made quick work of the padlock holding the gate closed.

 Clarke watched in awe at his brutal efficiency. She could see now that he was good at his job. Her confidence in the idea that he might actually survive this was instantly improved.

 He placed the gun firmly back in her grip, then wrenched the gate open and propelled her through. Heavy gunfire crackled out from behind them. “Go!” Bellamy shouted to her, and they both set out at a breakneck pace down the dirt road before them.

 Clarke could hear the stampede of heavy boots following hot on their heels. She tried to use that awareness to propel her forward, but the adrenaline could only do so much. The lack of oxygen made her light headed, and her ribs screamed in protest at every step. Her stride began to falter, but still she pushed herself to stay as close to Bellamy as possible.

 Dimly, she became aware that they were in a valley nestled amongst mountainous terrain. Bullets continued to ricochet off of the hillside around them.

 At a particularly close call, Clarke stumbled, going down on her hands and knees. She tried to push herself up, but instantly buckled, as pain lanced through her chest, stealing her breath.

 “Bellamy!” she cried before she could stop herself. He skidded to a halt and looked back at her, panic evident in his eyes. She cursed herself. She should have just let him go.

 He came back to her and hauled her back to her feet, ignoring the cries of pain she was emitting. Squatting down, he lifted her so that the majority of her weight rested on his shoulders, securing her there by placing an arm across her upper back and another behind her knees.

 “Bellamy stop,” she objected feebly, barely getting enough air in to wheeze the words out. “I’ll only slow you down. You need to get yourself out.”

 He ignored her protests, settling back into a steady jog.

 Clarke curled in close to him, trying to prevent herself from becoming unwieldy and throwing him off balance. With her face pressed close to his jacket, she was overwhelmed with the scent of her attackers from earlier that day. Her mind began flashing back to that terrible room and what they had done. She bit her lip until she tasted copper. Now was not the time. She couldn’t afford to go back there.

 She was roused from the memories as Bellamy jerked suddenly beneath her. He stuttered a step and grunted, but otherwise continued forward, his grip tightening around her. Clarke craned her neck to glance behind them. At their slowed pace, the enemy was gaining on them. If something wasn’t done, it wouldn’t be long before they were overtaken.

 The gun was still firmly gripped in her right hand. She pulled her arm free from where it was pinned against Bellamy’s back. Straining painfully, she thumbed the safety and aimed towards the murderous group headed toward them.

 She fired a shot. One of the men at the front went down clutching his side. She allowed herself a small grin in satisfaction.

 Her next two shots went wild and her breath hitched. They couldn’t afford to waste bullets. By her count even if her aim were perfect, she still wouldn’t have enough to take all of them out.

 She did her best to steady her arm – not an easy task when you’re being carried by someone who is literally running for his life - and squeezed off one more round. It wasn’t great, but it hit one of their pursuers in the arm, causing him to stumble into one of the other men. They both tumbled into the dirt. The rest of the group miraculously slowed down, yelling what Clarke could only guess were obscenities after them.

 When Clarke was satisfied that they were no longer being chased, she shifted to whisper into Bellamy’s ear. “They’re falling back.”

 He grunted to acknowledge that he’d heard her, but didn’t slow down.

 “Bellamy, stop. I can walk.”

 He ignored her statement, but did ease up by a fraction. She could feel his body straining with fatigue, every ragged breath more labored than the last. He couldn’t keep this up. And when he went down, completely exhausted, they’d both be screwed.

 “Bell-“

 This time, he stopped so abruptly that she almost flew off his shoulders. Gently, he put her down on her feet, resting his hands on her shoulders and staring deep into her eyes. “Stay right here and don’t move. _Please._ ”

Clarke just looked at him, confused. They were still standing in the middle of a narrow valley, surrounded by jagged rock on both sides. The sun had set fast. When she looked back in the direction that they’d come from, she could no longer see their assailants on their tail, but that didn’t mean that they were far behind.

 Bellamy began tenderly prying her fingers from the death grip they were still locked in around the gun’s handle. When he had it in his own hand, he turned away and started to head further down the path at a light jog.

 “What-“ was he abandoning her? This was so unlike the Bellamy she’d come to know over the last month.

 “I’ll be right back,” he shot back over his shoulder, trying to reassure her.

 She watched his figure get smaller and smaller as he disappeared into the distance. After a couple of minutes, she began to stumble after him, her pace slow and arduous. She couldn’t just stand there, defenseless, and wait for him return. As much as she’d begged him to leave her behind over and over, at this moment she had to admit that she was terrified. She knew that he’d come back, but she didn’t know how long whatever he was doing was going to take. She also didn’t know how far behind them the terrorists were lurking. As much as she’d never planned to get this far, this little taste of freedom had clarified things for her. She couldn’t go back. She wouldn’t let them take her alive. But without a weapon, she didn’t have much of another option.

 Up ahead, she could just start to make out shadows separating themselves from the darkness. There were dozens of smaller shapes, crowded around one larger one, along with two figures.

 “ _Give me the goddamn horse!”_ she heard Bellamy snarl in a voice she’d never heard him use before. She quickened her pace.

 Rounding a small bend in the path, she found herself surrounded by goats, all of them bleating frantically, obviously picking up on their owner’s distress.

 Bellamy stood with the gun pressed to the goat herder’s temple. The man was trembling uncontrollably, trying to hand Bellamy his horse’s reins and mumbling in a language that Clarke didn’t recognize.

 She rushed forward. “Bellamy, what the hell are you doing? This man is innocent-“

 Bellamy barely even turned toward her, “I told you to stay back.” His eyes were hard and unyielding, in an expression that Clarke didn’t recognize. She took an involuntary step back.

 At the look of fright in her eyes, Bellamy softened slightly. “I won’t hurt him,” he assured her quietly, then gave her a light push further down the path. “Keep going, I’ll catch up in a minute.”

 She hesitated. “But-“

 “ _Go_ ,” he commanded her, his tone leaving no room for argument.

 She stumbled forward, turning her back on him. She had the sense that she wouldn’t like what she saw if she turned around.

 Her gait was halting as she continued along the path. She may not have been the one that had been running for the majority of their escape, but the exhaustion still ran deep. She felt like she still hadn’t managed to catch a full breath since she’d been back in their cell. All at once, it seemed like the fatigue hit her system full force, and though her feet continued to stagger forward, she found herself careening toward the rock wall to her left.

 Resting one arm against the rough surface, she vowed to just take a minute to recuperate before setting off once again, but the second her legs stopped moving, her eyes fluttered shut, head drooping toward her chest.

 The sound of galloping hooves approached her from behind. She couldn’t even scrounge up the energy to lift her head. The noise stopped, and was followed by the soft thud of boots hitting the ground, followed by the unmistakable whoosh of fabric snapping in the air.

 A hand tentatively touched her between the shoulder blades. She flinched and whipped around. Bellamy stood there, his hand still raised. He looked apologetic, the harsh set of his face from moments prior completely erased. Clarke noted that he now wore the goat herder’s complete outfit, obviously trying to throw off anyone who was still on their tail. Clarke cynically wondered what good it could possibly do. She’d still stick out like a sore thumb.

 Bellamy motioned to a heavy woven blanket that now lay beside their feet. “Lie down.”

 She looked at him, puzzled. They were obviously both tired, but this wasn’t the time to take a break.

 Bellamy sighed heavily, running a shaking hand through his filth encrusted hair. “Please Clarke… just do it.”

 She still didn’t understand, but she hesitantly did as she was told, laying down face up towards the night sky. Bellamy squatted down beside her and absently brushed a grimy lock of hair back from her forehead. “I’m sorry – this is going to hurt,” he warned her. Slowly, he began rolling her up in the blanket. With every flip, her ribs screamed, and she couldn’t stop a small gasp from escaping.

 She finally understood. He was camouflaging her too - making her look like a harmless thick roll of cloth. It was clever, if not insanely agonizing. He stopped when she was face down towards the ground. For a brief moment she panicked that she would suffocate if he left her in this position for too long.

 Almost immediately, he snaked an arm under her thighs and another under her chest. She felt him struggle as he tried to lift her, and realized just how much his strength had faded. She finally understood why he had done what he did. He was desperate.

 He finally managed to get her off the ground. She felt herself get carried a short distance, before being lifted slightly higher and then placed back down. He had her balanced on the back of horse so that most of her weight rested on her pelvis while both her head and feet dangled toward the ground. She could tell that he’d tried to be as gentle as possible when putting her down, but she couldn’t help the coughing fit that ripped through her as her ribs were once again jostled. She felt the saddle shift as Bellamy swung himself up behind her. He placed a steadying hand on the small of her back before he kicked the horse into a slow trot. From her vantage point, she could see the ground race past dizzyingly, through the opening at the end of the rolled blanket. She closed her eyes in order to stop herself from throwing up.

 They rode for what felt like hours to Clarke. Long enough that the blood had long since rushed to her head, and she was teetering on the edge of a fresh anxiety attack as it became harder and harder to breathe.

 Finally the horse slowed, and her ears were met with new sounds. Though it was still quiet, she made out the unmistakable noises of inhabitation. They must have reached a village or a town.

 She felt Bellamy’s thighs tense beside her.

 She longed to ask him what had him so on edge, but understood that that would be more than a little conspicuous. She resolved herself to stay silent for the time being, hoping that Bellamy would choose a place to hideout and recuperate soon.

 Within minutes, they had come to a stop. Clarke began to shift, readying herself to try to drop to her feet in the least painful way that she could manage. Bellamy’s hand pushing firmly on the small of her back stilled her.

 “For the love of god, actually stay put this time. I’ll be right back.” His voice was just loud enough for her to hear.

 There wasn’t much she could say to that, considering she was pretty sure that he’d already left. She laid there, helpless. Literally anyone could have walked up and taken the horse and there wasn’t a single thing that she could do about it. She waited there, nearly holding her breath, unsure of what to do.

 There was a soft thud on the saddle beside her, followed by the horse beginning to walk at a slow pace once again. Clarke began to struggle against her wool prison, trying to wriggle an arm free, so that she might be able to pull her head out to see what was going on. The exposed edge of the blanket was pulled tighter, as if some one was trying to straighten out the roll.

 “It’s just me princess,” Bellamy muttered to her, reassuringly. He continued to lead the horse through several more turns, before once again coming to a rest, this time in an even quieter area.

 Clarke could make out the deep rumble of Bellamy’s voice speaking in a language she didn’t understand. His words were stilted, the phrases fragmented, but still, she’d never heard him speak any language other than English before. She wondered idly what else she didn’t know about him.

 The world shifted as the roll was once again lifted into the air. She tried not to make a sound as her weight was adjusted several times, then tried not to worry too much at Bellamy’s staggering gait as he stumbled toward where ever they were going.

 She heard a door close and the whir of blinds being drawn. Soon she was falteringly placed on a soft surface. Bellamy made quick work of removing the folds of blanket from around her and she gasped in a deep breath, not even caring how much it hurt.

 When she’d managed to take in enough oxygen that she could actually focus, she took a look around. She was lying on the bed of a dimly lit room. Bellamy stood at a small wooden desk tucked into one corner, riffling through a container.

 Clarke pushed herself up, pausing for a moment at the sudden rush of lightheadedness she experienced. She joined Bellamy and saw that he had been sorting through a makeshift first aid kit. Rolls of gauze and tape and a bottle of antiseptic had been orderly laid out.

 Bellamy awkwardly shrugged out of his new jacket, and Clarke gasped at the bloom of deep red blossoming under his left shoulder. She hurriedly helped him to remove the damaged side of his tunic, exposing a slowly weeping bullet wound in the flesh of his chest, just below where his arm met his body.

 “When did this happen?!” She questioned him anxiously, pushing him back a couple of steps until the edge of the bed hit the back of his knees. He flopped down gracelessly and allowed her to continue to examine him.

 “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered to her. But she knew. It must have been when he’d stumbled as they were running for their lives. He’d continued to carry her without saying a word. She wanted to cry.

 “It looks like it’s just a flesh wound,” she assured him as she poured some of the antiseptic onto a piece of gauze.  He let out a strangled yell as she applied it to the wound. “Sorry,” she mumbled, turning her head away.

 “I’ve had worse,” he grunted, ducking his head.

 When she was satisfied that it was as clean as it was going to get, she riffled back through the box of supplies, relieved when she found a small sewing kit. He grimaced at her when she held it up, but nodded, giving his ascent.

 She made quick work of sewing up both the entrance and the exit wounds. Her stitches were crooked and uneven but they would have to do for now. After she had the injury neatly bandaged and taped, she turned back to the table, meaning to take care of the cut on his cheek as well.

 Bellamy shook his head, grasping her by the waist and firmly pushing her toward the bed. She recoiled as her heart started to pound, the quietest whimper escaping her throat.

 Bellamy didn’t seem to notice as he grabbed the cleansing liquid himself and flipped up the tattered hem of the abaya, revealing her ravaged feet. Clarke stared in horror, the memories that had been surfacing instantly forgotten. She’d never even felt it, but her feet were littered in tiny cuts, each caked with sand and who knows what else.

 Bellamy pulled up a small, rickety looking chair that Clarke seriously doubted could even hold his weight, and began cleaning her feet in silence. She watched him work - made note of the hard set of his jaw and the tension still thrumming through his shoulders. If he were a wolf, his hackles would be raised, she mused. Clarke didn’t understand why he looked so stressed, possibly even more than he had when they’d been in the compound. Looking at their surroundings, she felt like they should have been relatively safe for the time being.

 “What’s wrong Bellamy?” she asked him softly, afraid of what he’d answer.

 Bellamy continued working without answering for so long that she was beginning to think that he hadn’t heard her. Eventually he sighed, turning to grab the tweezers from the table. “We’re in Iraq. Somewhere in the North based off of the terrain and the dialect.”

 Clarke’s brow furrowed. “How? You said before that we were being held in Iran. That’s why you had to come alone.”

 Bellamy shrugged, getting back to work and not meeting her gaze. “It must have been when they moved us.”

 She was still confused. “But isn’t that a good thing? We can get help from the military.”

 Bellamy nodded. “I’ll figure out a way to make contact in the morning. But until then, no, I wouldn’t consider being trapped in an area controlled by warring terrorist factions to be a good thing.”

 That was a sobering thought. Clarke bit her lip. “We’ve made it this far against all odds Bellamy… you’ll get home soon. You’ll be able to see Octavia,” she reminded him quietly. She needed him to get through this, and sparking even a tiny bit of optimism in him couldn’t hurt.

 Bellamy chuckled derisively, turning his back to her. “Clarke, If we get back to the States I’m going to prison.”

 She felt like she’d been slapped. “What? No-“

 Bellamy cut her off. “I knew what I was getting into when I left to go find you. It is what it is.”

 Clarke shook her head futilely. “They won’t send you to prison for risking everything to save someone. That doesn’t make any sense.”

 Bellamy finally turned back to look at her. “They will if that person went AWOL to do it. Not to mention breaking half a dozen other laws along the way.”

 Clarke continued to shake her head vehemently. “No. I’ll be at your trial every step of the way. This is so wrong.”

 He sighed heavily. Without comment, he helped her onto her newly cleansed feet and led her to the tiny adjoining room, flicking on the light.

 It was a tiny bathroom. He handed her a threadbare towel and motioned toward the small shower stall in the corner. “I bet that will feel good.”

 She took the offered cloth but turned back to him, not finished with her argument. He just bowed his head and shut the door. She stared at the wood paneling for a moment, ready to go after him, but ended up relenting. It could wait.

 She was distracted by a small movement in her peripheral vision and whirled around, paranoid. It was just her reflection moving in a small, tarnished mirror.

 This was the first time she’d seen herself since she’d been in Dubai. She didn’t even recognize what she saw. Her hair wasn’t blonde anymore. It fell in matted heaps caked in blood and grime. Her skin was a patchwork of new and old bruises, flecked here and there with tiny glistening scars. Her face was so gaunt she didn’t even look like herself.

 She closed her eyes, unable to bear looking at her reflection any longer.

 She began to tenderly pull off the soiled abaya. It was difficult, especially as the soreness from the day began to set in and each shift caused her ribs to grind against one another. She had half a mind to call Bellamy back to help, but stopped herself. She didn’t want him to see what lay underneath.

 Finally free of the garment, she stepped toward the shower and turned it on. The water was lukewarm at best, and lacked pressure, but she didn’t care. She picked up the bar of soap from beside the sink, stepped under the spray, and began relentlessly scrubbing everywhere she could reach. Bellamy had been right. Though it didn’t feel _good_ per se, it was still something that she utterly needed.

 She continued scrubbing until even the unmarred areas of her flesh were raw, and she simply didn’t have the energy to keep going. She dropped to her knees, letting the soap fall from her fingers. The water continued to cascade over her head and back, pooling around her as she sank into the cold tile.

 The events of the day finally began to catch up with her. Unable to stop the flood of emotions from overtaking her this time, she wept, trying to keep herself as quiet as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So originally this chapter was going to detail their entire escape attempt... but then it turned into a 10000 word monster. The bad news is it took way longer than anticipated to write. The good news is that you just got a chapter that's twice as long as normal and you'll get another shorter one next Wednesday as long as nothing crazy happens in my life before then... you're welcome?
> 
> Let me know your thoughts. As always, comments and kudos are very much appreciated :)


	9. VIII

 Bellamy checked the clock again. Clarke had been in the bathroom for a long time. He wanted to give her space – the girl had gone through more in the last two months than many soldiers had been through in their whole lifetime – but he was also worried. She was pretty severely injured, not to mention malnourished and exhausted. She could have fainted, hit her head. She literally could be bleeding out on the floor right now and he was sitting out here twiddling his thumbs.

 He sighed, resolving to give her five more minutes. He glared at the second hand on the old analog clock on the wall until it made its way past the 12 for the fifth time. His patience dissolved as he got to his feet and headed to the door. He knocked lightly, not wanting to scare her.

 “Clarke, are you alright?” What a stupid question. Of course she wasn’t alright. Neither one of them was, and they likely wouldn’t be for a long time.

 He heard frantic shuffling from the other side of the door, followed by a small gasp of pain. “Don’t come in,” was her muffled response.

 He bit his lip. Something had obviously happened today. He wasn’t an idiot. He saw it every time she tried to hide the fact that she’d recoiled from his touch, or brushed off a topic of conversation. But he didn’t want to push. They were both barely holding it together as it was.

 “I won’t,” he assured her quietly. Though really, he would if he had to.

 Fumbling one-handed through the packages he’d picked up at the market earlier, he found what he was looking for. Opening the bathroom door just the slightest amount, he called out to her, “I’m just giving you something clean to wear.” He slipped the garment through the 3-inch opening he’d created and placed it on the counter, before pulling the door closed once again. He heard the water turn off.

 Reluctantly, he retreated across the room, back to the flimsy chair that he had been keeping watch from. He flicked the curtain out once again and assured himself that the street outside was still empty.

 The bathroom door creaked slightly as it opened and Clarke stepped through, still toweling off her hair.

 In a way she looked even worse than she had earlier. At least before he could try to convince himself that some of the marks marring her skin were just dirt. Now he saw each bruise, cut, and scar in detailed relief against the milky white of the few patches of unblemished skin.

 She was wearing the new abaya that he’d splurged on for her earlier. It hung limply on her bony frame, but at least the fabric was soft. Maybe it could give her some small measure of comfort.

 “How did you get this?” she questioned him quietly, holding out one sleeve.

 Bellamy didn’t answer, looking at the floor, slightly ashamed.

 She waited for a moment, before obviously coming up with the answer on her own. “The goat herder. You took more than just his horse and his clothes.”

 He looked up then, expecting to see disgust on her face. Instead, all he saw in her expression was resignation.

 She took a small step toward the bed, allowing just enough room for him to get past. “You should get cleaned up too.”

 Part of him wanted to talk this out, talk to her about anything really, but right now wasn’t the time.

 He made to move past her, and without even giving it a second thought, reached out to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he passed.

 She jerked away from his touch so hard that she actually fell onto the bed. Instinctively he reached out to try to steady her, causing her to flinch once again, batting his hands away.

 “Don’t… just don’t,” her hands fluttered uselessly as she fought an internal struggle, obviously frustrated by her own reaction.

 Slowly, she crawled away from him to the top of the bed. She laid down facing the wall, curling her legs in toward her chest on top of the blankets.

 “I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, not sure how he could help.

 “Just go,” was her weak reply.

 Crestfallen, he did as she asked, heading toward the bathroom, but something stopped him and he found himself standing frozen, one hand resting on the doorjamb.

 “They filmed it all,” Clarke’s voice was quiet and devoid of emotion as it cracked the silence in the room. “They livestreamed it to my parents as some kind of twisted threat. Now every time I see them I’ll see it in their eyes. The pity, the disgust, the _shame_.”

 Bellamy’s blood ran cold. She still hadn’t told him what exactly they’d done, but he was fairly certain he could guess. He just didn’t want to believe it. He stayed there, hovering, unsure of what he could possibly say or do to comfort her.

 “I just need to be alone right now,” her voice was haunted. “I’ll be fine,” she added unconvincingly.

 Still he hesitated. He was uncomfortable having her leave his sight when she was feeling like this. He also didn’t want to betray her trust, considering what he suspected had been done to her.

 Eventually he sighed, stepping into the bathroom and shutting the door most of the way. He’d respect her wishes, but he’d be at her side in an instant if she so much as a sounded like she needed help.

 Shrugging off the tunic he’d stolen and stepping out of the pants, he went straight to the shower. Clarke had long since used up any warm water, but he didn’t mind. The cool spray was almost refreshing compared to the unrelenting heat he’d endured for the last month. And even before he’d been captured, the water in the barracks had always been cold too. Warm showers were reserved for home… if he ever managed to get back there.

 He retrieved the mostly-used bar of soap from the shower floor and began scrubbing away the grime, watching as the water changed from clear to a muddled burgundy-brown. He did his best to keep the newly applied bandages on his chest dry, but wasn’t all that successful.

 When he was as clean as he was going to get, he leaned his forehead against the cool tile and let the water just flow down the curve of his spine. His head was killing him, and though he’d hoped the cold water might give him the added boost of energy that he desperately needed, it instead only solidified how goddamn exhausted he was.

 As much as part of him wanted to fall asleep right there, he knew that he couldn’t. They were still in danger and he needed to be on alert. With a sigh he turned the water off, grabbing the remaining towel to dry off.

 Out of habit, he took a quick glance in the mirror. Aside from the obvious changes, like his beard growing in and his hair growing out of its military standard cut, he noted that he’d lost muscle mass. His skin was also patterned with bruises and electrical burns, but all of that would fade.

 It seemed so unfair that a beautiful girl like Clarke would walk away from this ordeal maimed for the rest of her life, her skin riddled with a constant reminder of everything she’d been through, while he’d end up nearly scot free. It made rage boil in his gut, and at the same time made him long to hold her. At the moment he couldn’t do anything about either of those feelings, so instead he pushed them down, burying them under his soldier’s resolve.

 He put his clothes back on and went back into the main room. Clarke had settled into a fitful slumber, each toss and turn punctuated by a broken gasp or moan. Part of him wanted to wake her, but she needed her rest, whether it came with nightmares or not. Instead, he pulled the sheet up and laid it gently over her. She stilled for a moment, her forehead creasing delicately. He turned away.

 The silence was broken by the stuttering of automatic weapons fire in the distance.

 Bellamy retrieved the gun from where he’d left it on the table and crept toward the window. Peeling back the blinds just the slightest amount, he surveyed the surrounding area. He caught the glint of light from a muzzle flash, but it was still far off in the distance, coming from the direction that they’d just left.

 He wished he knew if this kind of violence was typical for the area that they were in, or if it indicated something more sinister headed their way.

 As quietly as possible, he pulled the chair closer to the motel room door and settled in, resolving to continue to keep watch until he was sure.

 With not much to do besides stay alert, he began to puzzle through just how he would go about getting in contact with the American military after the sun came up.

 He’d traded the horse to the innkeeper for access to a room, leaving them on foot. Neither one of them was in any shape to travel long distances, so he’d have to make do with what was nearby. If he could get access to a radio he might be able to raise someone. It all depended on where the closest base was. If they were near Mosul it shouldn’t be a problem. If they weren’t… he’d just have to come up with a different plan.

 His eyes drifted part way closed, and he shook himself, determined to stay awake. If they managed to pull this off, he’d have plenty of time for R and R. What else was there to do in a prison cell anyway?

 He wondered idly if he might be able to visit Octavia before he was locked up. It had definitely given him some peace of mind to know that she should be safe at home, and that Lincoln should be back state-side taking care of her by now. But he wanted to make sure with his own eyes that she was adjusting. After seeing just what a toll all of this had had on Clarke, he was worried about her.

 But he didn’t want her to visit him in prison. He didn’t want his little sister to see him like that. It just didn’t feel right.

 Kane should be able to make it happen. The man owed him at least that much.

 With those thoughts floating through his mind, he must have drifted in and out of consciousness a few times despite his best efforts.

 He was roused from his musings by the faint sound of voices coming from across the lot. Checking through a small slit in the blinds once again, he found a man speaking in an abrasive tone with the inn’s manager.

 He took a deep breath. It could just be a dissatisfied customer – but something about this wasn’t sitting right with Bellamy.

 He cracked the door slightly open, hoping he might be able to hear what was being said more clearly. He still couldn’t catch all of it, especially not with the way that his head was still pounding, but what he did manage to hear set his adrenaline into high gear once again.

 The man was looking for two Americans – a man and a young woman – both of them wounded. Bellamy caught a glint of metal in his hand. A knife? A gun? He wasn’t sure.

 He had been extremely careful, making sure that the blinds were completely drawn before he’d let Clarke out of hiding. But his Arabic was flawed. It wouldn’t take much of a leap for the innkeeper to figure out where he was from, and Clarke’s disguise hadn’t exactly been foolproof.

 The inn keep hesitated in his response, his posture fidgety with his eyes darting continuously toward their room. That was all of the confirmation that this new attacker needed.

 Bellamy swore under his breath, cocking the gun. He took a steadying breath, watching through the small gap between the blinds and the windowsill for the man to get close enough that he was sure he wouldn’t miss.

 He threw open the door and squeezed off two rounds, watching just long enough to confirm the man had fallen before slamming the door shut once again.

 He turned to find Clarke out of bed and backed against the far wall, staring at him wide eyed.

 Well, at least that solved the problem of waking her up.

 “We need to go,” he told her gruffly. Hurrying back to the table, he pulled out the rest of the package he’d purchased earlier. He handed her a pair of slippers. He’d had to guess at the size, but she made no comment as she put them on.

 Finally, he pulled out a niqab, matching the abaya she already wore. He placed it over her head gently and allowed the fabric to fall down past her shoulders. “Keep your eyes down and stay close to me,” he instructed her.

 She gave him a small nod, her eyes appearing terrified as he looked at them through the loose mesh. He secured a scarf over his own head, hoping that when combined with the facial hair, he would blend in well enough for it to serve as a disguise. When he was finished, she slipped her hand into his and he gave it a tight squeeze.

 At the door, he scanned the street in both directions. The man appeared to have been alone, but that didn’t mean much. There had been literally dozens of men coming in and out of the training facility where they’d been held. Any number of them could be after them now.

 Keeping Clarke close, he set a brisk pace. He didn’t want to draw attention, but at this time in the morning the streets were near empty, it wasn’t like they could blend into a crowd.

 He took turns at random. He didn’t have a plan. The steady pounding in his head intensified, echoing between his ears in a persistent beat. He could barely focus.

 They rounded a building and almost ran right into two men carrying AK-47s. Bellamy stopped in his tracks, but didn’t dare turn around for fear of looking suspicious. He pulled Clarke’s arm until she was fully behind him, hopefully obscuring her from view, then led her to a nearby market stall, hoping he could pull off looking like he was setting it up for the day.

 As he fiddled with straightening the table, he eavesdropped on the men’s muttered conversation. They were also from the terrorist compound and were growing tired of the wild goose chase they’d been sent on. One of them mentioned how if he found the pair of Americans, he’d just shoot them both and be done with it.

 Unfortunately, it was at that moment that the other man noticed their presence. He called out to them, demanding to know why Bellamy had allowed his wife outdoors at such an early hour.

 Unable to come up with a satisfactory answer, Bellamy began backing Clarke away from them slowly, still trying to block her from their view as he palmed the gun, disengaging the safety. By some freak occurrence of bad luck, Clarke’s niqab caught on the edge of the table and pulled free from her head. She lunged forward to grab it, but it was already too late, the damage was done.

 Bellamy yanked her in the opposite direction just as the sharp crack of gunfire pierced the air. By some miracle, neither one of them was hit.

 Heads turned in their direction, and the distinct thumping of running boots could be heard headed their way. He returned fire on the two assailants, but was met by an empty clicking after only three shots. He was out of bullets. Bellamy threw an arm around Clarke’s waist and began propelling her at a full sprint down the street, cursing as Clarke’s freshly washed blonde hair glinted like a beacon in the predawn light.

 He heard shouts as more men joined the original group, all of them in hot pursuit. He and Clarke were like sitting ducks, running down the middle of this empty street, easy targets.

 Bellamy risked a glance back and saw a few of the men had stopped, raising their rifles to take aim. He spied a narrow opening between buildings ahead and put all of the energy he had left into driving them forward with one final burst of speed.

 He managed to literally throw Clarke into the mouth of the alley, watching as she crashed into its far wall, just as the heavy rat-tat-tat of gunfire rang out once again.

 Pain ripped through his thigh, causing him to stumble, only his grip on the corner of the building keeping him upright. Without pausing to assess the damage, he once again hooked an arm around Clarke’s waist and did what he could to continue to push her forward, further into the alley.

 The whirring in Bellamy’s ears grew louder, maybe from the blood loss. His leg would barely take his weight, but he kept pushing, making it maybe 100 feet before he realized something was wrong.

 Clarke was getting heavier and heavier on his arm, her movements becoming more sluggish and ineffectual. Bellamy glanced back quickly and saw that the men still hadn’t made it to the mouth of the alley, and so he made the split second decision to stop. He maneuvered them so that they were partially obscured behind some wooden crates, then propped her against the plaster wall, trying to figure out what was wrong.

 Clarke was gasping, the tendons in her neck straining, as she tried unsuccessfully to take in more air. Her skin was taking on a bluish tinge and blood flecked her lips. He’d seen these symptoms before. Her broken ribs must have punctured her lung. She couldn’t breath.

 “Go,” she wheezed, giving him a feeble push.

 “No,” he lurched into an unstable lunge, pulling her back onto his shoulders like he had before. His injured leg instantly gave out the moment he tried to stand, and Clarke cried out weakly at the unexpected jolt.

 She staggered back to her feet, placing a warm palm against his cheek, and rubbing it absently with her thumb. “Bel… plea…” He could tell it was a struggle to get even that much out.

 Rising back to his feet, he pulled her towards him until she was enveloped in his chest, trying to shield as much of her body with his as he could. He could hear the heavy plod of boots approaching them now. “I’m not leaving you,” he whispered resolutely into her ear.

 He felt her fists tighten in the linen of his tunic. He carded one hand through the hair at the base of her neck and pressed a firm kiss to her forehead. “I don’t have any regrets.”

 He was still clutching her desperately, when he was wrenched backward by the collar of his shirt. He faltered, but was kept upright by strong arms. Hands tore her from his grasp, and he was left reaching for her as she was pulled away.

_“Well, well… I never thought I’d be seeing your ugly mug again.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10 points to whoever guesses who that was at the end of the chapter!
> 
> The next update might take a while because it's finals, and I have my brother's destination wedding at the end of the month. But don't lose hope, it's already started.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos give me inspiration so please feel free to leave them :)


	10. IX

 Bellamy blinked hard, wondering if his head injury was now causing hallucinations on top of everything else.

 “Roan?” he grunted, unable to believe his eyes.

 “You bet your ass. Now enough with the tearful reunions, we’ve gotta move,” Roan shifted so that Bellamy’s arm was wrapped over his shoulders, and slipped an arm around his waist, taking a significant portion of his weight.

 Bellamy looked around, still disoriented. He caught sight of Clarke draped over uniformed shoulders, her head bobbing lifelessly as the SEAL carrying her ran towards the far end of the alley.

 There were others, members of his team, strategically placed in tactical positions throughout the narrow inlet. Gunfire started from the alley opening that he’d just come from. The SEALs returned it in kind.

 Roan gave him an impatient tug, and Bellamy relented. But the second he put weight on his freshly wounded leg, it gave out, nearly taking both men down.

Roan cursed loudly. “Dax, get over here and help out so we can blow this hellhole.”

 One of the nearest figures stood from his crouch and spit, his face twisted with disgust, but he followed his commander’s orders, grabbing Bellamy’s other arm roughly and pushing him away from the firefight.

 Bellamy was slightly perplexed by the man’s reaction. He and Dax had never been close, but they also were both a part of the team, and the team was family.

 He didn’t have time to think too hard on it however, as the barrage raining down on them intensified. “Move, move, move!” Roan shouted.

 As they continued to get closer to the far end of the alley, the pounding in Bellamy’s head got louder and louder until it resolved into the steady thump of helicopter blades. The chopper was hovering there waiting for them, Miller standing on one side of the doorway providing cover fire.

 Dax shoved him unceremoniously into the open compartment and Roan let him fall, turning to monitor the progress of the rest of his men. Bellamy landed facedown with a grunt and could have sworn he felt the sharp thump of a boot against his side as he was still trying to get his bearings.

 The floor dipped several times as each member of the team boarded. Bellamy struggled to push himself up so that he could see what was going on, but his arms were shaking too badly to hold his weight.

 “Let’s go!” Roan called out to the pilot, the sound of his hand slapping against the hull echoing throughout the cramped compartment. Bellamy felt his stomach drop as the copter lurched upward, the sounds of machine gun fire still pinging off of the walls.

 Without warning, he was flipped roughly onto his back and he groaned as each of his injuries was jostled once again. He could see Roan above him, checking him over.

 “Woods! Looks like Blake has a GSW to the thigh.”

  _Woods? Why would Lincoln be here…_ Bellamy thought to himself blearily. His friend should have been long gone by now, settling into civilian life back home. He pushed up onto one elbow, trying to see if he’d just misheard.

 “I’ve kind of got my hands full here, so unless he’s about to bleed out, sedate him and keep pressure on it.” Lincoln didn’t even look up from what he was doing. He was working intensely over a small form on the other side of the floor, his fatigues stained with blood up to the elbow. “Miller, hand me that chest tube.”

 “Linc-?” Bellamy managed before Roan pushed him back down roughly. Biting off the protective tip on a syringe he’d snagged from the open medical kit, the commander rucked up his subordinate’s tunic to get access to his skin.

 “Shit, looks like he’s got another one. This one’s been patched up though,” Roan muttered, turning his head back towards the medic.

 Bellamy barely even paid attention to what he was saying, his mind racing. Why the hell was Lincoln on this helicopter? And more importantly, that small body he had been working on had to have been Clarke. She hadn’t been bleeding that badly back in the alley… At least not that he could see.

 What had happened to her and was she okay?

 He was distracted by a sharp pinch in his deltoid. “Wait-“ They couldn’t put him under yet, he needed to make sure that Clarke was alright.

 But Roan wasn’t even looking at him, already shifting down his body to tourniquet his leg and take stock of the rest of his men. Bellamy tried to push himself up one more time, but his limbs were too heavy, he could barely even lift his head.

 The edges of his vision blurred… he was vaguely aware of an immense vice-like pressure just below his hip, but it strangely felt like it was happening to someone else. “Clarke-“ he barely managed to mumble before everything went black.

 ***

 Bellamy felt like he weighed a thousand pounds. It was a strange sensation, like someone had cut him open and sewn rocks under his skin. At the same time if felt like his head was filled with cotton, to the point that his skull might burst open from the pressure at any minute.

 Voices drifted in and out of his head, some of them he didn’t recognize, some of them he did.

  _Lincoln_. That voice nagged at him the most. And as he came closer to consciousness, he began to remember why: Lincoln shouldn’t be here. He should have been at home in Virginia, taking care of Octavia.

 It was that thought that helped rouse him, and the anger that it brought with it. If Lincoln had reenlisted, Bellamy was going to kill him. He’d left Octavia alone trying to deal with all of this shit and Bellamy wanted to know why.

 He snapped his eyes open abruptly, and gasped, immediately squeezing them shut again, as the bright lights caused pain to shoot through the top of his skull. He brought up his hands to shield his face, but his right arm stopped short with a metallic clink.

 He blinked his eyes back open blearily, taking in the drab colored hospital sheets covering his legs, and the padded restraint attaching his wrist to the bed railing.

 Scanning the cramped, unadorned room, he found it to be mostly empty, except for Lincoln, leaning against the small barred window in one of the walls. He was wearing a fresh set of fatigues, his brow creased and his arms folded tightly across his chest.

 The two men stared each other down, neither speaking nor relenting. Bellamy grew increasingly agitated until he finally couldn’t take it any longer. “What the hell are you doing here man?”

 Lincoln raised an eyebrow, his jaw noticeably clenching. “You’re seriously the one questioning _me_ right now?” He ground out, his voice dangerously soft. “I think the better question is where have _you_ been?”

 Bellamy was stunned for a moment. He had never heard so much venom in the other man’s voice before. Not even in the heat of battle.

 He opened his mouth, but only a dry clicking sound came out. He didn’t know how to answer that.

 It didn’t matter though. Apparently Lincoln wasn’t actually interested in an answer to his question because he kept going. “You were declared AWOL about 4 weeks ago. And you know what? I was almost glad. I figured that after everything that happened to Octavia, you decided you were done with all of this. I thought you were laying low, taking care of your sister.”

 Bellamy’s gut clenched. That timeline didn’t make any sense… 4 weeks? Hadn’t Kane gotten him any leave at all? But his headache was slowing down his thought processes, and he didn’t have time to figure it out before Lincoln continued.

 “I’m literally packing my things, ready to finally get out of here and go home, when I get a Skype call,” if possible Lincoln’s glare intensified. “In all of the time I’ve known her, I have _never_ seen your sister cry. When I picked up that call she was inconsolable. I could barely even understand what she was saying. She _begged_ me to tell her that I knew where you were, that you were safe. But I couldn’t do that, could I? Because you didn’t even have the common decency to send me a message after you visited her in the hospital, let alone tell me where you were going.”

 Bellamy pressed the heel of his free hand into his forehead, trying futilely to ease the throbbing in his brain and sort through everything that Lincoln was saying. It wasn’t much help.

 “My fiancé was tortured for _weeks_ , and I couldn’t be there to put the pieces back together.” Lincoln’s voice was rising, not helping Bellamy’s headache at all. “The only consolation I had was that _you_ were with her, holding her together until I could come back. But none of that was true was it? And now Octavia’s _still_ alone because I’m still stuck here rescuing your sorry ass.”

 “So why did you?” Bellamy finally blurted, throwing his hand down angrily.

 Lincoln took a few deep breaths, pinching the bridge of his nose, obviously trying to regain some level of patience. “That same day I got a sat-call from Kane saying that they might have located you. They were putting together the intel and hoped to get an operation up and running within a couple of weeks. He requested that I extend my contract, just until the mission was over.”

 Bellamy scoffed indignantly. “And you said yes? Jesus Link, you should have gone home to O-“

 “ _She told me to stay!”_ Lincoln roared. “I’ve never wanted _anything_ more in my life than to be able to just go home and be with her. But how could I say no?” Lincoln turned and punched the wall beside him in frustration. He took his time, deliberately shaking out his hand as he calmed down. He rested his forehead against the wall, refusing to even look at Bellamy. “I understand why you did what you did. Hell, I probably would have even done the same thing in your situation. Clarke didn’t deserve anything that happened to her. And she certainly didn’t deserve to be abandoned and just left to rot. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not mad as hell.”

 Bellamy’s heart stopped. _Clarke_. How the hell had he forgotten about Clarke? “Is she-?”

 Lincoln’s shoulders relaxed as he softened at his friend’s tone. “Alive,” he assured his comrade quietly. “She’s critical but stable. They’re med-evacing her to Germany in a couple of hours. I’m going with her. Escorting her home is my final mission.”

 Bellamy released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He leaned back into his pillow and began examining the ceiling, willing the tears that had unexpectedly snuck up on him to disappear back behind his eyes.

 Against all odds Clarke was going home. He’d gotten her out.

 Lincoln squeezed his shoulder supportively. Bellamy hadn’t even heard him cross the room.

 “You made it,” Lincoln assured him, most of the animosity that had been radiating off of him before had melted away.

 Bellamy nodded tightly, not trusting his voice to remain steady if he tried to speak.

 Lincoln pulled away slightly, giving him a stern look. “Listen man, if you think I’m mad… you have no idea. The other guys are calling you a deserter and worse. Octavia gave me the full story and I filled Roan in on what I could, but the rest of the guys…” He paused, trying to figure out how to word his next statement. “Everything that happened – with you, with Clarke, with O - was classified as need to know. Details on what happened, even on who Clarke is – it’s all being kept under wraps. A lot of the guys think that you’re a traitor. You need to watch your back.”

 Bellamy swallowed hard. Well at least that explained Dax’s reaction during the extraction.

 “And the charges being laid against you aren’t exactly helping,” Lincoln continued in a quiet voice, obviously trying not to be overheard. “I don’t know what’s going on with that, but anything you could offer up to help clear your name would help.”

 Bellamy couldn’t help the derisive chuckle that escaped at the thought. “What are you suggesting? That I give them all of the intel I was magically able to gather while I was trying not to die in an underground cell?” He shook his head cynically. “I never even figured out why those monsters took the girls in the first place.”

 The ashen look on Lincoln’s face said it all, especially when combined with the fact that he wouldn’t meet his friend’s eyes.

 “Lincoln… what?” Bellamy stammered.

 The medic fidgeted, obviously contemplating how much he should say. He sighed heavily, his eyes drilling a hole in the ground. “Kane told me. A couple of Belgian tourists went missing from Qatar - same MO. They resurfaced, out of the blue, three weeks ago on a busy street in Basrah. Their disappearance hadn’t been covered up like Clarke and Octavia’s had, so when they showed up with their faces uncovered, the soldiers nearby recognized them immediately and rushed in to help. That’s when the IEDs in their vests were remotely detonated.”

 A blow to the stomach would have hit Bellamy with less force. He felt a cold sweat break out across the back of his neck and forehead, and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick. “How many?” he asked quietly.

 Lincoln didn’t sugarcoat it. “3 American, 2 Canadian, 1 Brit… 26 civilians. And of course the girls.”

 It was a brilliant plan – and one that would continue to work. Even now that they knew what could be coming, their soldiers would still rush in. They couldn’t just leave innocent people to die.

 If Clarke hadn’t fought back and gotten sick… that could have been her. _That could have been O._

 “Wait…” the timeline that had been bothering him before was once again brought to the forefront of his mind. He hadn’t seen any other hostages at the original compound that they’d been held in. It was possible that the terrorists had held the Belgian girls someplace else, but it didn’t seem likely considering they’d originally been held by a smaller off-shooting faction. “You said this happened three weeks ago… how long have I been gone?”

 “You left camp to see Octavia 42 days ago.” Lincoln told him soberly.

 42 days. _42 days._ That meant Clarke had survived in that hell for close to 60.

 “I don’t-“ Bellamy stammered.

 Lincoln grasped his forearm firmly. “I know.”

 There was the sound of boots on linoleum out in the hallway and Lincoln glanced back distractedly.

 “Listen man, amongst all of your other injuries, you have a mild traumatic brain injury. They’re keeping you here in Baghdad until you’re declared safe to fly. I don’t know how long that’s going to be, but if you need me to get anything sorted out on the legal end back home just say the word.”

 Bellamy raised an eyebrow.

 Lincoln gave him an exasperated look. “Obviously I’m still mad, and I’m probably going to be for a long time, but we’re brothers… in more ways than one.”

 Bellamy nodded, giving him a small weary smile. “John Murphy. Octavia should have his information. Get him up to speed on everything.”

 “You’ve got it,” Lincoln moved away from the hospital bed, getting ready to salute whoever came through the door.

 “And Link,” the other man stopped, giving Bellamy his full attention. “Please… just keep Octavia away from all of this. Especially the trial. I saw a lot of what she went through first hand. I don’t want her to have to relive any of it… she’s been through too much already.”

 Lincoln’s eyes hardened at the implication in what he’d said, but he quietly agreed nonetheless.

 The door opened and Bellamy caught a glimpse of soldiers guarding the entrance, making way for the tall, lean figure walking through the door. He hadn’t realized it, but he’d been expecting Kane to be the commanding officer coming in to speak to him. He couldn’t explain why after everything that had happened, but for some reason he was disappointed when it wasn’t.

 As he entered the room, Roan gave Lincoln a look that clearly spelled out to Bellamy that the medic had been ordered to alert his CO the moment he’d woken up. It was a subtle confirmation of where Lincoln’s allegiances lie, despite his anger. Bellamy couldn’t help but be slightly relieved.

 “Petty Officer Woods, shouldn’t you be checking on your patient and making any last minute preparations? Your transport leaves at 0900.” Roan asked the other man in an obvious dismissal.

 “Yes sir,” Lincoln nodded to their CO and gave Bellamy one last meaningful look before exiting the room and shutting the door behind him.

 Once they were alone, Roan continued to stand on the opposite side of the room silently, studying him longer than was strictly necessary.

 Bellamy was unnerved. Yes, Lincoln had said that he’d explained everything to the Master Chief, however Roan had always been hard to read. It was anyone’s guess how he’d take all of this.

 Finally Roan’s gravelly voice cracked the silence. “You couldn’t have waited 2 more damn hours for an extraction team before making a total mess of things yourself?”

 Bellamy just stared at him.

 Roan’s lips quirked slightly, but the smile didn’t reach anywhere near his eyes. “No – I suppose you couldn’t.”

 Roan looked down and sighed. “Atom was shot when we were trying to find you during the extraction attempt at the compound. He’s likely.”

 It was yet another shock that Bellamy wasn’t expecting. He hadn’t even seen Atom in the helicopter. The more he thought about it though… that would have explained the blood on Lincoln’s fatigues. It hadn’t been Clarke’s after all. He felt an immediate rush of relief, followed by a wave of self-loathing. It shouldn’t matter whose blood it was. In fact he should feel worse considering that the man had taken a bullet trying to rescue him.

 Roan caused him to snap back to focusing on the conversation as he continued speaking. “Listen Blake, you’re in some pretty deep shit right now, and a lot of the guys aren’t going to have your back because they don’t know the whole story. That said, Woods filled me in and I want you to know that I’m proud of you. What you did took some serious balls, though I have no doubt you probably made things worse for yourself with your bone-headed rash decisions.”

 That last part sounded more like the Roan that Bellamy knew.

 “I’m sure that Kane has something up his sleeve, but if comes down to it and this thing goes to trial, I’ll be in your corner.”

 Bellamy gave him a small nod of acknowledgement. He wished that he could show more gratitude, but the longer he kept his eyes open, the worse his headache was becoming. He felt like if he moved his head any further, he’d be at serious risk of leaving shards of skull on the pillow.

 Roan studied him a moment longer, before exhaling and shaking his head. “I wish I didn’t have to do this.” He straightened and clasped his hands firmly behind his back, settling into the ramrod straight military posture that signaled that the time for camaraderie was over. “Petty Officer Bellamy Augustus Blake, you are hereby under arrest for the charges of desertion and the commission of treason against the United States of America.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your guesses were so close! We'll be meeting Murphy next chapter.
> 
> That said, this story is going on a (hopefully) short hiatus. As you can probably tell, the story will be headed in another direction from this point - still a ton of angst but less violence as Bellamy and Clarke learn how to live with what happened to them. I have the next two chapters planned as well as the end, but I'm still trying to figure out the in-between part. Input on any scenes you'd like to see is welcomed, although I don't make any promises that it will happen. You can expect the next chapter in about a month, but who knows - maybe I'll surprise myself and it'll be out earlier!
> 
> As always, your comments and kudos fuel my writing, so be sure to leave them :)


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